


Blatant Lies

by snarkymuch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Hallucifer, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Hidden Truths, Sam and Dean are moving forward until the past comes up and stops them. Some things are not easily forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

The spirit shoved Sam back. His chest let out a whoosh of air as he hit the brickwork of the fireplace. The spirit came at him again, and he reached feebly for anything that could use as a weapon. His hand fell on the cold iron handle of a fireplace poker. He wrapped his fingers around it and prepared himself to swing.

The spirit charged forward, cool air brushing over Sam as it did. He tightened his grip on the poker, and when it was close enough, he swung. It cut through the spirit, sending it melting away into the air.

Sam took a moment to catch his breath and he brought a hand down to this thigh and rubbed the spot where the cuts once laid without thought. When things became too much to bear, the habit grounded him. He hadn't cut for over a month. It had been hard, and at times, he thought he wouldn't make it through, but Dean had been there, just like he said he would, helping him through it second by second.

Sam heard a shuffling sound in the next room, and he ran for the door. When he got there, he found Dean pinned by the spirit, shotgun fallen just out of reach. Sam ran over to his side and grabbed the gun, training it on the ghost. With one quick shot, the spirit was gone, but not for good. He would be back. They needed to find his remains and get them salted and burned as soon as possible, preferably before going another round with him, as both he and Dean were both in rough shape.

Sam reached out and gave Dean a hand up, helping him to his feet.

"You okay, bro?" Dean asked as he looked him over from head to toe. Dean's protective streak had been in overdrive since finding out the truth about Sam's childhood months ago.

Sam pressed a palm to the spot on his head where he got hit. "Yeah, just took a knock to the head earlier, but I'm okay now."

"You sure? Let me see." Dean was already walking over to him.

"Dean, I'm—"

Dean put up a hand to stop him. "Don't even finish that sentence. You know how much I hate the words 'I'm fine.'"

Dean took step closer to Sam and looked at his eyes, checking his pupils. “They looked good.” He reached up and touched the growing knot on Sam's temple. "Nice one, but I think you'll live. You feel sick to your stomach at all?"

"No, I'm okay, just sore."

Dean nodded and dropped his hand. "I bet. All right, I say we go gank this son of a bitch and get the hell out of here. I don't know about you, but I've had enough fun getting thrown around for one night."

It took them an hour of hunting the cemetery, but they were eventually able to find Old Wiley's remains. They salted and burned them without a problem and then headed back to the motel.

Once there, Sam went about his new routine. He would kick off his shoes and then grab his toiletries bag and head in to the bathroom.

Stripping down, Sam stepped into the shower. The water felt good against his sore muscles. There were times where he needed the water as hot as possible to wash away the feeling of hands on his body, but thankfully, today wasn't one of those days. He was okay.

Once he was washed, he stepped out and grabbed his towel. He flipped his head down and dried his hair. When he flipped it back up, he nearly fell to the floor. There, sitting on the toilet seat, was someone he thought was gone from him forever. It was Lucifer. And he was smiling.

"Hey, Sammo," Lucifer chimed, waving his fingers. "Long time no see."

Sam looked away, grabbing his boxer shorts and slipping them on.

"No need to hide on my account." Lucifer grinned. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sam's body was shaking, and he struggled to put on his sweats.

Lucifer's head tilted to the side as he stood up and walked closer. Something had caught his eyes. Sam stumbled back, nearly falling into the shower. "Easy there, Tiger. I was just trying to get a better look at your handiwork."

Sam's hand quickly moved to cover up the mess of scars.

"Nice work, Sammy." Lucifer smiled. "I could have done better though. Maybe next time." He shrugged.

There would never be a next time. Lucifer was gone. Sam closed his eyes and pressed the scar on his hand and waited. The room went silent, and he nearly cried in relief.

He hesitantly opened his eyes and looked up into the mirror. Lucifer popped up behind his shoulder and smiled, raising his brows. "Peek-a-boo."

"Dean!" Sam called, fumbling for the door. "Dean!"

The door pushed open and Sam stepped back.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, looking him over from head to toe. Sam knew he was looking for more cuts. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, it's … I …" Sam pushed his way past Dean in the living area.

"It's what, Sammy?" Dean looked panicked, looking over Sam, eyes flickering around the room for the hidden threat.

Sam looked back over his shoulder at the bathroom, swallowing hard. Lucifer was gone. "It's nothing … just some bad memories."

"Was it about him again?" Dean hated saying the clown's name. He didn't like to think of him as a human because in his eyes he wasn't. No one who could hurt his brother like that was human.

Sam shook his head, gaze still locked on the bathroom. Dean brought a hand up and cupped Sam's cheek, forcing him to look away.

"Sam, talk to me. We had a deal. We were going to talk about this stuff. No more hiding."

"Yeah, yeah, no more hiding," Sam breathed. "You're right."

"Good. Now what did you see, Sammy? What's got you so spooked?"

"He's back, Dean."

"Who's back, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes pricked with tears. "Lucifer. He's back. I saw him."

Dean's mouth went dry, and he looked to have momentarily lost the ability to speak.

"I don't understand, Sam," Dean said finally. "What do you mean he's back? Back where? Can you see him now?" Dean looked around the room like somehow he might be able to see him, too.

Sam shook his head. "He was there when I got out of the shower. He was smiling, Dean. _Smiling_."

Sam was near hyperventilating now, and Dean knew he had to do something to calm him. "Sam, you need to take a few slow breaths for me. You're going to make yourself sick."

Sam nodded mutely, and Dean placed a hand on his chest. "Feel my hand? I want you to focus on it. Feel me. Now take a breath, nice and slow. Now let it out."

Dean repeated the steps again and again until Sam's breathing was under control.

"That's good, Sammy."

Once Sam was calm, Dean went over to the duffel and dug through it. He pulled out a bottle of pills. Opening them, he shook one out into his hand.

He walked back over to Sam and handed him the pill. "Just something to take the edge off."

Sam didn't argue. He just took the pill and popped it into his mouth. It began to dissolve before Dean could hand him a glass of water. Sam face scrunched up in distaste.

He took the water from Dean and rinsed the taste from his mouth.

He walked over to the bed and took a seat, resting his head in his hands. He was already beginning to doubt his sanity. Had he really seen Lucifer? Was it just some horrible flashback? He didn't know, and it scared him.

Dean came over to the bed and sat down beside Sam. He gently placed a hand on Sam's back and began rubbing circles, trying to ease the tension he could see in his brother's frame.

Dean worked his hand up to the nape of Sam's neck and began rubbing softly. "Is the pill working?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, a little, I guess."

"Are you sure you saw him?" Dean asked quietly.

"I don't know. I guess maybe it was just a memory, but it felt so real."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm okay now."

"Good. Then why don't you lie down for a while, let the pill work?"

Sam swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, probably should."

Dean got up and Sam lay down on the bed, curling up on top of the covers. He slid his arm under the pillow and drew it close to him, fingers digging into the soft fabric.

xXx

Sam woke with a start hours later. It was dark, the room only faintly lit by the parking lot lights outside. He looked around the room, needing to assure himself that he was really awake. The nightmares were so real, twisted memories played out in the fires of hell. He drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed himself up in the bed. He looked over at the other bed. Dean was sound asleep, dead to the world.

Sam walked over to the window and looked out, thinking back to his dreams. The cries, the pain, the touching. It made his skin crawl and he shivered. He wished he was past the memories of what the man had done to him, but he couldn’t. They memories were still sharp and vivid, and they played behind his eyelids like a horror movie.

Sam heard a tapping noise coming from somewhere nearby, and he tensed. Without turning his head, he could see the gun by the door. The tapping grew louder and Sam dove for the gun. He grabbed it and pulled it up, spinning to face the sound. And there he was again, Lucifer, grinning as he tapped a pen against the table.

Dean stirred in the bed but thankfully didn't wake. Careful not to make a sound, he placed the gun back down on the table. This wasn’t real, he reassured himself.

"Those were some interesting dreams you had there, Sammy," Lucifer said. "Some of our best times—"

"Shut up. You're not real," Sam snapped.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Please, Sam. We all know the truth. I'm as real as you let me be. And we all know how much that is."

Sam looked away, hoping he if he ignored him long enough he would just disappear. "So, tell me, Sam. I have to know, who was that other man in your dream? The clown. You seemed more afraid of him than me. We can't have that now, can we?"

Sam swallowed hard and stumbled back towards the bed. When his knees hit it, he collapsed back and sat. He was shaking now and it made Lucifer chuckle. Sam pressed feebly against the scar on his hand, but it only made Lucifer laugh harder.

"You're going to need more than that old trick." Lucifer got up and walked over to the bed, looking down at Sammy with a frown. He squatted down and brought a hand up to touch Sam's thigh. Sam jumped back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the devil away.

"You know what you have to do, Sammy." Lucifer dug a thumb into the old scars. "It's just a cut, right? Dean wouldn't even have to know."

The pressure on Sam's leg disappeared and Sam opened his eyes; Lucifer was gone. But the urge to cut was back with a vengeance. He didn't think he could control it, but he knew he had to try. He couldn't fail Dean; he couldn't fail himself.

Tears began to roll down Sam's cheeks, and he wiped them away.

Dean grumbled and stretched. He blinked tiredly and looked over at Sam. His eyes went wide when he saw the tears, and he jumped out of bed to kneel in front of Sam. Sam hung his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to shield his eyes.

Dean ran a hand through Sam's hair, tucking it up behind his ears. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a nightmare. I'm good now."

"You sure, you don't look what I'd call good."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Just shook up."

"You want to talk about it? Do you _need_ to talk about it?"

"No, no I think I'm all right. Don't worry Dean. I'd tell you if it was something bad."

Dean drew a breath and then nodded. "Okay, I trust you. It's still early, so why don't you try to get a bit more shuteye."

Dean ruffled Sam's hair as he got up and walked the few steps back over to his bed.

"Goodnight, Sam."

Sam lay back in the bed, curling up on his side. He looked out toward the window and watched the passing headlights of cars as they flickered through the room. He yawned and closed his eyes, but not for long. Hell flashed behind them moments later, jolting him awake. He blinked and looked around the room. He felt so tired, so out of control. He needed to do something.

His eyes fell on Lucifer. He was back, or maybe he had never gone, but instead of looking mocking, he looked sympathetic. He smiled sadly at Sam.

"It's okay, Sammy," he said, holding the penknife out for Sam. "You need this."

Sam wasn't sure where Lucifer had found the knife. Sam had assumed it had been in Dean's bag, but he hadn't looked before to find out. Dean trusted him, and he didn't want to break that trust.

Sam got out of the bed and walked over to Lucifer, snatching the knife from him.

Holding the knife gave him a mixture of excitement and guilt, but the one thing it didn't make him was happy. Happiness never really did play a part in the equation.

Part of his mind was taunting him now. It would be so easy to do it. The knife was in his hand. Dean was asleep. It would only be one cut. It was so tempting. He might have done it if it weren't for the devil sitting in the corner, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"Make it pretty, Sam."

Sam shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He couldn't do this. He couldn't let Lucifer get to him. He couldn't let the past get to him. Making a decision, Sam crept over to Dean's duffel. He unzipped it slowly, trying to keep the noise down. Once open, he stuck the knife back inside and closed it again.

He stood and turned to face Lucifer. "You won't win."

Lucifer frowned. "If I had feelings, they'd be hurt."

Sam walked over to Dean's bed and gave him a nudge. "Dean, wake up."

Dean snuffled and then rolled over to face Sam. He blinked wearily. "What's wrong now?"

"Dean, I need to … you know …" Sam said. "I don't know if I can stop myself."

"Whoa, okay. Hang on." Dean pushed himself up in the bed. "What can I do?"

"Just sit up with me until it passes."

"Yeah, yeah, I can do that." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?"

"You mean the urge?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"About a seven."

"Can I ask what set you off?"

"Just thinking too much." He glanced over at the table where Lucifer sat, biting his nails and spitting out the pieces on the carpet. "You ever feel something is so real you can't tell where the truth ends and the dreams begin?"

"Yeah, a few times, after I got back from Hell. It's not easy, Sam, but I promise things will get better. We'll get past what happened."

Dean got up and walked over to his duffel, pulling out the same small bottle of pills as before. He shook one out into his hand and then walked over to the small fridge.

Sam glanced over at the devil, who was wearing an odd expression; he looked intrigued. "Get past what, Sammy?" Lucifer stood and walked over to stand in front of Sam. "You can tell me. I'm not all bad."

Sam scowled at him. "Shut up."

"What's that, Sam?" Dean asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Nothing, just clearing my throat."

Lucifer tilted his head to the side. "I'll find out you know. I can wiggle my finger around in that brainpan of yours and pry it out."

Dean came back with a pill in his head. "Two in one day. I guess we could call this a rough patch."

Sam smiled wanly. "Thanks."

Sam popped the pill and chased it back with the bottle of water Dean passed him.

"I'm feeling a little better. I think I am going to try to sleep it off."

"All right. I'm going to stay up just in case you need something."

Sam knew Dean didn't trust him not to hurt himself, and he couldn't blame him. Not after everything they'd been through.

Lucifer knelt in front of Sam. His face looked pained. "I don't like not knowing, Sammy." He reached up and brushed the hair out of Sam's eyes. "You're keeping secrets from me and I don't like it."


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam woke up the next morning, he half expected to see Lucifer perched on his bed, but thankfully, he didn't. Instead, the room was quiet except for a soft bustling coming from the kitchenette. Sam blinked wearily and looked around. Dean was making coffee. He breathed a sigh of relief as Lucifer was nowhere in sight.

Sam watched as he poured two cups and then turned, carrying them towards Sam. Yawning, Sam stretched and pushed himself up in the bed.

"Coffee?" Dean asked.

"Sure." Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

"And you're up?" Sam said with raised brow.

Dean shrugged. "It's a nice morning. Thought I'd get an early start on the day."

Dean wasn't going to tell Sam that he'd spent the night watching his little brother like a hawk, worried over every twitch that he might wake up and want to hurt himself. Dean knew the signs and the pills could only do so much. Sam was starting to fall apart and Dean couldn't hold him together.

Dean offered Sam a mug of coffee and Sam took it. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me until you try it." Dean nodded to the cup. "I'm pretty sure it's going to taste like tar. The coffee expired last year."

Sam took a sip and then grimaced. Dean was right. It tasted awful.

Dean took a seat on the bed opposite Sam. "So, yesterday …"

"Yeah, it was rough." Sam ran a hand through his hair.

Dean nodded. "How are you doing now?"

Sam looked over his shoulder, half expecting Lucifer to pop up at any moment. He looked back at Dean. "I'm okay. My head's a little clearer."

"That's good." Dean took a sip of his coffee, nearly choking on the taste. "This is awful."

Sam smirked. "Better than nothing, though."

Dean smirked and then his face went serious. "So, I was thinking. Are you up for a hunt?"

Sam wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth ground him. "Why, you find something?"

Dean got up and walked over to the table, grabbing the paper. "Get this. There were three animal attacks all in the same night, all in the same area. Plus, there was a full moon. I think we're looking at a werewolf."

Sam took the proffered paper and read the article Dean had circled. "Yeah, you're right. It does look like our kind of thing. So, when do you want to head out?"

xXx

Dean took another sip of his coffee and shrugged. "Whenever you're ready. There's no real rush. We've got till the next full moon to find him."

Two hours later, they were dressed and packing. Dean watched Sam gather their things. Something seemed off about him, and Dean didn't like it. Maybe it was the way he kept looking over his shoulder, like he expected someone to jump out at any moment.

"There, I think that's it." Sam zipped the duffel closed. "You ready?"

Dean pulled himself from his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm good. If we shag ass, we can be there by tonight."

Sam tossed the bags into the trunk and then walked over to the passenger side door, getting in.

Dean started the car and they pulled away from the motel.

xXx

Sam watched out the window at the passing scenery. His mind wandered over the last few days and how close he'd come to letting Dean down, how close he'd come to cutting. He'd had the knife in his hand. It would have been so easy to cut.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool glass. There was a faint humming in the background that he couldn't place. At first, he felt it soothing and then it began to change. The more he concentrated on it, the louder it became. Soon the humming was clear. It was familiar and haunting. It reminded him of a lullaby, something a mother might hum to her child. It sent shivers down his spine.

Something about the tone disturbed him. It was too sweet. He opened his eyes and looked to Dean, expecting to see him humming, but he wasn't. He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to a completely different tune.

Sam swallowed and dared to look over his shoulder. What he saw made his heart jump in his chest. Lucifer was back, sitting in the backseat like he belonged there, humming as he toyed with the demon knife.

He caught Sam looking and smiled up at him. "Hello, Samuel."

Sam's eyes went wide, and he quickly looked away.

Dean glanced over at him, looking concerned. "You okay?"

Sam licked his lips and nodded. He could feel himself shaking. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

Sam glanced back over his shoulder at the backseat. Lucifer was still there, still smiling, and still twirling the knife in his hands. Sam drew a shaky breath and looked back toward the road. He could do this. He could handle this. He just needed to focus. He pressed his hand against the scars on his leg and closed his eyes. He felt the car slow and then come to a stop.

"Sam," Dean breathed, "you're scaring me. What's going on? You gotta talk to me."

Sam could feel a cool air touch his neck and it made him cringe.

"You're so tense. You know what you need to do," Lucifer whispered against his neck.

Sam hated to admit it, but Lucifer was right. Sam knew what he needed. His hand pressed harder against the scars.

"Sam, talk to me dammit!" Dean commanded.

Dean looked down at Sam's hand and saw how he was digging his fingers into his thigh right where the cuts once laid. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist and drew his hand away. "Easy, Sam. Whatever it is, we can handle it. Just talk to me," Dean pleaded.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the feeling of Lucifer breathing on his neck.

"Yeah, Sammy. Tell him all about it. How you want to slice yourself up. How you miss the feeling of the blade in your hand."

Sam swallowed. "I'm okay, Dean. I'm all right."

Sam looked over at Dean. He looked beyond concerned. His eyes were frantic. Dean's thumb rubbed back and forth against Sam's wrist and he tried to focus on it.

Sam sucking in a shaky breath he looked over at Dean. "I'm okay, Dean. I just got stuck in my head for minute."

Lucifer chuckled and leaned back in the seat. "You're such a little liar, Sammy. I love it."

Sam cringed at the devil's words. He didn't want Lucifer to be right about anything, but he was right about this. He was a liar, and a blatant one at that. But he couldn't tell Dean the truth. There was no way he could. It would scare him too much to know how crazy Sam had become.

Dean gave Sam's a wrist a gentle squeeze and then let it go. "You're not alone, Sam. You know that, right?"

Sam nodded. "I know."

"Good." Dean shifted the car back into drive. "That's good. And you know, if you need to talk—"

"I know," Sam cut him off. "I know."

"Okay." Dean nodded and then pulled back onto the road.

They spent the next hour in silence, or at least Dean did. Sam listened to Lucifer, who spent the time whispering dark reminders of hell into Sam's ear.

"I saw him again in your dreams last night," Lucifer said casually as the car pulled to a stop. "I saw his face, painted in makeup. I saw he was touching you."

Sam ignored him. He got out of the car and unlocked the trunk as Dean went to the motel office to pay.

"If I had been free, if I'd had the chance, I would have killed him." Lucifer leaned into Sam's line of sight. "I would never have let him hurt you. You're mine, Sammy."

Sam shivered at his words. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. He reached into the trunk and pulled out their bags.

Dean came walking out of the office, room key in hand. "Thirteen," he said nodding down the walkway.

Sam nodded and headed toward the room.

Once inside, Sam tossed the bags at the foot of the bed and kicked off his shoes.

"Not so fast, Sam," Dean said, "I'm starving so put 'em back on. We're going out."

"Dean, I'm beat." Sam pulled off his socks. "I'm not going out."

"Well, tough. I'm not leaving you here alone so get dressed."

Lucifer walked up behind Dean and frowned. "I think he means it, Sam."

"I'll be all right. I promise," Sam said.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighed. "What do you want to eat then?"

"Whatever, nothing too greasy though."

Dean grabbed the keys from the table. "I won't be long."

Sam sat on the bed staring at the crappy motel TV, trying to ignore the fallen angel as he tossed a knife between his hands.

"You can't go on like this, Sammy," the devil said. "We both know it. You know what you need."

Sam refused to acknowledge him. Instead, he focused on the infomercial playing on the TV.

"I know you can feel it, that niggling tug at the back of your mind. That little flame of desire to hurt. It's there, Sam. All you need to do is give in. You can't confine yourself like this. It's not healthy."

Sam closed his eyes and drew a breath, letting it out slowly.

"You can almost taste it, can't you? That feeling of exhilaration, that rush of endorphins. You can't deny it."

Sam held his head in his hands. "Stop."

Sam gritted his teeth, hard. Before he realized it, he was pulling his hair at the roots. The pain felt good, but it only took a second for the guilt to wash over him and he dropped his hands. He looked at the clock. Dean should be back at any time. He only had to make it a little longer.

Sam got up and began to pace the room.

Lucifer tossed himself down on the bed with a huff. "You're so stubborn."

The door locked clicked and then the door swung open. Sam had to stop himself from tears at the sight of Dean.

xXx

Dean looked around the room, not sure what he was seeing. Sam looked ready to fall apart. Dean looked around the room for the cause but saw nothing.

He kicked the door shut and quickly tossed the bag of food down on the table. He immediately went to Sam's side. He reached up and placed a hand on each of his brother's shoulders.

"Hey, look at me," Dean said, ducking his head so he was in Sam's line of vision. "What's going on?"

Sam rubbed his palm against his jeans. He wanted to tell Dean everything, but he couldn't. Dean had enough to worry about.

"Nothing, I just saw something on TV. It set me off. I'm good now."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked over at TV and the program on it. "Sam, it's an infomercial on oven mitts. Try again."

Sam stepped back, having Dean so close was making it hard to think.

"If you're thinking of lying again, I would think twice. I know something's up, so just spill it."

Sam plonked down on the bed and rested his head in his hand. After a moment, he looked up at Dean.

"Go ahead, Sam. Tell him you're seeing the devil," the fallen angel chimed. "I can't wait to see the look on his face."

Sam glanced over at Lucifer and then back at Dean. He shook his head. "No, Dean. It's really nothing. I'm fine. I promise." Sam looked up Dean pleadingly. "Just let it go, please?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't lie to you."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam fell asleep that night to the sound of Lucifer's humming. It was the furthest thing from comfort. In fact, it sent chills down Sam's spine, but he couldn't fight his eyelids any longer. He had to sleep.

Sleep didn't find him well though. He tossed and turned, in and out of nightmares. Flashbacks of hell mixed with memories of Plucky's. Painful touches, harsh hands, stirred him to wakefulness through the night. And the one thing that stood out through all the pain was Lucifer. He watched from the distance, like a part of his mind, wrapped around his dreams. It was like he was never alone anymore.

When he woke the next morning, he felt like shit. His body ached and his head hurt, but he forced himself awake. Yawning, he stretched and pushed himself out of bed. He could hear Dean's soft snoring in the other bed.

"Morning, Sam," Lucifer chimed. "Sleep well?"

Sam glanced over at him and then looked away. He knew it wasn't healthy to acknowledge your hallucinations, but it was hard to avoid Lucifer. He had a way of worming himself into your reality, making himself a fixture in the room. Sam knew he had to do everything in his power to fight him.

Sam walked over to the other bed and nudged Dean's leg, not wanting to be alone with the devil any longer. "Dean, wake up."

Dean started, grabbing his knife from the under the pillow. He looked around the room wildly until his gaze fell on Sam.

"What's wrong?"

Sam wasn't going to tell him that the devil was already smiling at him this morning, watching him like a cat does a mouse. So instead he said, "Nothing's wrong, just thought you'd want up."

Dean tossed the knife back down on the bed and stretched. "Yeah, thanks." Dean rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up out of bed. "Coffee?"

"I can make some now." Sam walked over to the kitchenette and began to make some.

Lucifer got up and walked over to Sam, peering over his shoulder. Sam swallowed. He could feel his skin prickling with the coolness that emanated from the fallen angel.

Sam tried his best to ignore the curious angel and go about making coffee like nothing was wrong. Taking a breath, Sam steadied his nerves and forced himself to finish the simple task.

xXx

Dean watched Sam with a hawk-like gaze. There was something very wrong with Sam. His shoulders looked tight and his frame rigid. It was like he was terrified to move. He wished Sam would just talk to him, tell him what was wrong. Whatever it was, Dean was sure they could fix it together.

A few hours later, they were dressed and ready to investigate the werewolf attacks. They both piled into the car and headed out towards the hospital to see the bodies for themselves.

It was another three and a half weeks till the next full moon, and they hoped they could track this thing down by then.

When they arrived at the hospital, they got out of the car and straightened their suits. They made their way inside and down to the morgue.

They passed a small office with a placard on the door. It read: Dr. Hancock.

The boys looked at each other and then the door. Dean shrugged and Sam reached up to knock.

A moment later a husky male voice bellowed from inside. "It's open."

Dean opened the door and stepped inside. They were greeted by an older man with a scruffy beard wearing a white coat. He looked worn out. The man looked Sam and Dean up and down and then crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"Let me guess, FBI?"

Sam stepped forward. "Yes, that's right. We're here about the recent animal attacks."

"And why is the FBI interested in that?"

Dean stepped forward. "I'm afraid we can't discuss the details of the case."

"Hmm." The doctor studied them for a moment. "All right. What can I do for you then?"

"Are the bodies still here?" Sam asked.

"Sorry, they're long gone. I've got the reports though. You're welcome to them." The doctor pushed himself up from his chair and made his way over to his filing cabinet. He pulled it open and rummaged through. With a little triumphant noise, he pulled out a handful of files.

"Here you go," he said.

"Thanks," Dean said as he took the proffered files. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

The old doctor shook his head. "Still not sure what you're looking for, but good luck to you."

They left the office and made their way back to the car.

When they got there, Sam froze. Lucifer was already there, sitting the backseat, looking pleased with himself.

Dean saw Sam freeze. "What's wrong?"

Lucifer raised his brows.

"Nothing," Sam said, glancing back at Dean. "Let's go."

Sam got into the car and tossed the files into the backseat beside Lucifer, who picked them up immediately with interest.

Dean started the car and pulled away from the hospital. Sam tried to block out the devil in the backseat as he described the blood and gore of the photos in a delighted tone.

"Look at the rips and tears of the flesh. Look at the way it pulled back from the bone."

Sam swallowed and looked out the window, trying to focus on anything but the sound of Lucifer's voice.

"It's really beautiful. The way the human body gives so easily to the cut of a claw or blade. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam drew a breath and let it out slowly. It was only a few more minute's ride until they were back at the motel. Sam had to only hold it together a few minutes longer. Then he could retreat to the bathroom where he could fall apart in peace, not under the watchful eye of his brother.

As soon as the car pulled to a stop outside the motel, Sam flew out of the car.

"Sam?" Dean called after him.

Sam waved him off. "I need the bathroom."

Dean shook his head and reached into the backseat, grabbing the files and bringing them inside.

Sam slammed the door closed on the bathroom and leaned against the door.

He let himself slide down to the floor. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around his head protectively.

There was a knock at the door and Sam raised his head. "Yeah."

"You all right in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good, then I'm going to get started on these files."

Sam listened and heard the soft sound of footsteps moving away from his little haven. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

There was a soft plinking noise and Sam looked up. Unsurprisingly, it was Lucifer. It had become such a common thing now it was painful. He was standing, leaned against the sink. His face was drawn and his eyes soft. He looked at Sam with sympathy he didn't think the devil capable of. It was all wrong.

The fallen angel walked over to him and kneeled on the floor. He extended a hand slowly, like he might frighten Sam. He brushed his fingertips over Sam's temple. Sam pulled away from the touch.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," Lucifer said softly. "I only want what's best for you."

Sam pushed himself up and away from the devil. He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap, splashing cool water on his face. He turned to grab a towel when he saw it, the abandoned razor. It was just like it had started. A simple razor in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was fate.

He glanced over at the fallen angel who nodded approvingly.

Sam didn't have the energy to fight him any longer. He grabbed the razor and ran his thumb over the sharp blades. He twisted the blade and broke free the blades from the plastic. He picked one up and looked at it glint in the light.

It was so tiny but so much power ran through it into him. His hands shook a bit and the guilt was threatening to overtake him.

"It's okay, Sam," Lucifer said. "You need it."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. He unbuttoned his pants and let them fall. He lifted the leg of his boxers up and aligned the blade with the scars. He licked at his lips and took a breath. His hands were shaking.

The moment the blade broke the skin it was like a dam broke inside Sam. The harder he pressed the blade into his skin, the more control he gained. He pushed back the tide of emotion and cut again. Tears rolled down his cheeks. This wasn't what he wanted. Guilt overcame him and he dropped the blade. He had let Dean down again.

He pressed a hand to the freely bleeding wounds on his leg. What was he going to do? He looked over where Lucifer had been but he was gone.

The blood seeped from between his fingers and he sobbed. He was alone.

There was a knock at the door and Sam looked up.

"Sam? How you doing in there? It's been nearly an hour," Dean said.

Sam shook his head and tears flowed down his cheeks. He choked back a sob. He couldn't let Dean see him like this. "I'm okay," he managed.

"Sam, I'm coming in."

"No! Don't!"

The door opened without further hesitation.

xXx

Dean wasn't sure what to expect when he opened the door, but the sight that he met sucked the air from his lungs. Sam was standing hunched, hand over a bleeding wound, tears streaking down his face.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean charged forward and put a hand on Sam's face, wiping the tears with his thumbs.

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't know … It just happened. I…"

"Shh, it's okay, Sammy. Let me look." Dean kneeled down in front of Sam and lifted Sam's hand away from the cuts.

Dean felt sick at what he saw. The cuts were deep, deeper than the ones he'd made in the past and bleeding heavily. He needed to get pressure applied quickly.

He grabbed a towel and pressed it hard to the wounds. "Sam, I'm going to need to stitch these up. Can you hold this towel and make it to the bed?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. Come on. I'll help you."

Dean guided him to the bed and then hurried over to his duffel and pulled out their makeshift first aid kit.

"All right, Sam." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "Let's take a look."

Dean lifted the towel and looked closely at the damage. He was right. These were the worst cuts yet.

Sam sniffled and wiped at his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean wanted to say that it was okay, that he wasn't mad or hurt, but it would be a lie. "Why didn't you come to me?"

Sam looked down at the cuts and shook his head. "I don't know."

Dean had to take a breath to keep his anger at bay. "That's not an excuse, Sammy. You really did some damage this time."

Dean opened the kit and grabbed some gauze. He dabbed at the cuts. He reached grabbed the alcohol and looked at Sam. "Ready?"

Sam looked down at him and nodded. Dean poured the alcohol over the cuts. Sam reveled in the burn. It made everything else disappear for a moment.

"I should be able to stitch these up pretty easy," Dean said, putting the bottle away and grabbing the needle and thread. "Do you want me to numb it?"

Sam shook his head. He wanted to feel every bit of it. He deserved it for what he'd done.

"Okay, can you lie down? It will make this easier."

Sam nodded and laid back. At the first tug of thread, Sam's eyes began to tear. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know, Sam." Dean sighed. "I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stood over the bed and watched the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest. He couldn't believe that Sam had done so much damage. It scared him how easily it could have been worse. He wanted nothing more than to take away his brother's pain.

Sam snuffled and rolled over. Dean saw him wince in his sleep. He knew his leg had to be hurting. The cuts hadn't needed many stitches, but they were bad enough.

Dean reached down and grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it over Sam. He tucked it around him. Satisfied Sam was settled, Dean went to the table and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He took a long pull from the bottle and bit back a grimace as it washed down his throat. They needed to talk, whether Sam wanted to or not. They couldn't keep going on like this.

Dean put the bottle down and walked over to his bed. He wasn't sure he could sleep, but he had to try. There was a lot to face in the morning.

xXx

Morning came and Sam woke up. The skin of his leg felt tight and ached. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, he welcomed the feeling. It grounded him and kept a lid on all the emotions he couldn't otherwise handle.

He raked a hand over his face and looked over to the other bed. Dean was already sitting up, watching him. He glanced around the rest of the room. There was no Lucifer and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey," Sam said.

"We need to talk, Sam."

Sam's stomach dropped. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to face what had happened. He felt like curling up in a ball and pulling the blankets over his head. Anything not to have to face this.

He pushed himself up in the bed, keeping his gaze averted. "I know."

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have helped you."

"It just happened so fast. I didn't have time to think."

"Bullshit, Sam. You were acting sketchy since we left the morgue."

Sam licked at his lips and sighed. "Yeah, I know. I should've said something. I'm sorry."

"So, talk to me now. Tell me about what happened, what you were feeling."

Sam's mind flashed back to Lucifer's grinning face and he shuddered. He didn't know what to say. Should he tell Dean about Lucifer? If he did, what would Dean think? Would he want to lock him away?

"Sammy?" Dean's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up, meeting Dean's gaze.

Sam took a deep breath and wrung his hands, biting at his lower lip. He didn't want to do this. He wished Dean would stop staring at him like that and let this go, but he knew his brother wouldn't. He should have never cut.

Dean could see Sam was struggling with the conversation, but he had to push forward, for Sam's sake. They needed to clear the air.

"What are you hiding?"

Sam's eyes snapped to Dean's. "Hiding? I'm not hiding anything," he said a bit too quickly.

"Don't bother with the lies, Sam. I know you too well. Please, talk to me. Trust me, whatever it is, I won't judge you. I just want to help. Come on, Sam. Do this for me. Let me help you."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, and then he looked back at Dean. "Remember I said I saw him … Lucifer I mean."

"Yeah you said you saw him, like a flashback, right?"

Sam shook his head. "I thought so at first, but then he came back." Sam swallowed. "And he kind of stuck around."

Dean blinked and sucked in a breath. "Okay, go on."

"He taunted me, showed me things in my dreams. He … he tried to get me to cut. And last night, I gave in."

"Shit, Sam…" Dean raked a hand through his hair. "You know he's not real, right?"

Sam looked away and shrugged. "I guess, but it's hard to tell sometimes when he's so close and saying things so real, so true. It gets all mixed up in my head."

"Is he here now?"

Sam shook his head. "I haven't seen him since last night. He just disappeared as soon as I … you know … cut," Sam admitted shamefully.

"You think the pain made him go away?"

Sam shrugged a shoulder. "It makes sense."

Dean nodded. "Okay, okay. We'll get through this, all right? You just need to promise me something, no more lying. If Lucifer comes back, you have to promise me you will tell me so I can help you. Even if I need to hold your hands to stop you from cutting, I will. Whatever you need, okay?"

Sam bit and his lip and nodded. "Okay."

Sam got dressed, carefully avoiding catching the gauze on his leg as he put on his pants. He thought back to the conversation with Dean. He knew he could trust Dean, but asking for help wasn't something Winchesters did easily.

Once dressed, he met Dean at the table where Dean already had the laptop open and was working on the case.

"Get this, I don't think we're dealing with a werewolf."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

"Because there was another death just outside of town last night, same M.O., and there wasn't a full moon."

"Damn. So, what do you think it is?" Sam asked.

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "From what I can piece together, we're dealing with a skinwalker."

"Great, that should make things harder. It can be anyone, take any form. We're back at square one."

xXx

They gathered their things and headed out into town. They needed to start interviewing some of these people and maybe, with any luck, they'd find a connection between them all.

They started at the latest killing.

"Agent Simmons and Agent Frehley," Dean said to the officer cording off the scene as they flipped open their badges. "FBI."

The young officer looked perplexed. "FBI? What's the feds got to do with an animal attack?"

Dean smiled tightly. "Official business, afraid I can't disclose the details."

The officer frowned. "Right then, well, the body is just around the tree over there," he said, gesturing to the side. "It's a bit messy though. Hope you don't mind a little blood on your shoes."

They made their way over to the scene and they both cringed back at the damage. It was grisly. The chest of the young woman was torn open, and from the looks of things, her heart was missing.

Sam crouched down, wincing a bit at the pain in his leg, and grabbed a nearby stick. Using the twig, he pushed the torn, bloody fabric to the side. "Look at these scratches, Dean. This is definitely our guy."

Dean nodded. "Yep, nice and gruesome."

Dean walked around the scene, looking for clues. He stumbled on a paw print and knelt. It was huge, bigger than your average dog or coyote. Its claws had dug deep into the earth.

"Whatever it is, it's got big feet."

Sam looked over his shoulder to where Dean was. "Yeah, I think I found a piece of claw stuck in her rib."

Sam cringed in disgust as he pulled the claw from between her ribs. He held it up to Dean with between bloody fingers.

"Damn, that's huge."

Sam turned the claw in his hand. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Whatever this thing is shifting into, it's nothing to play around with. We're going to have to be careful."

"Agreed. Now let's go have a talk with the living. See if we can't connect some dots."

Six hours later, they were exhausted and hungry. They headed back to the motel having learned all they could about the people of the rinky-dink town. It seemed the only thing they all had in common was they went to same bar.

The sun was beginning to set as they entered the room.

"I say we change and shag ass to the bar before it gets any later. Don't need someone else becoming puppy chow," Dean said.

"We don't know it's a dog."

"Did you look at those prints? I think we're after a giant dog."

"Well, whatever it is, we better hurry up and get out there before it takes another victim."

They changed out of their suits and put on some casual clothes.

"Ready?" Dean asked, looking Sam over.

Sam rubbed a hand over where the cuts lay. "Yeah, let's go."

Dean nodded. "After you."

The bar was quiet when they arrived. Only a few men littered the room. They looked around and took a seat at the bar. This thing could be anyone, and it made it all that much more challenging. Everyone in there looked suspicious.

"What can I get you boys?" the young waitress said from behind the bar.

"Two beers," Dean said, smiling.

"No problem, hon," she winked and bent down, pulling out two bottles from the cooler. "Haven't seen you boys in here before. You from around these parts?"

Sam raised his brow. "We're just passing through."

"Well, that's a shame. This place could use more pretty faces like you own."

Sam blushed and ducked his head. Dean just smirked and looked the waitress over.

There was a bustling noise and then the bar door swung open. A crowd of people filtered in.

The waitress shook her head and wiped her hands on her bar rag. "Well, shit."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the rowdy crew. "Friends of yours?"

The waitress huffed. "They're nothing but trouble. Ever since they came to town, things have been crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, four of my best patrons have died since they started coming 'round."

"I thought the police said they were animal attacks," Sam said.

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know what the police are saying, I just know what I see. Someone leaves with them, and the next day, they're dead."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look of concern.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, let's go."

They made their way over to the rowdy group. There were five of them, a mix of men and women. Dean clapped a hand on one of the men's backs. "Hey, guys, there room for two more in your little party?"

The strangers all exchanged dark glances and the taller of them, a man with a dark beard, stepped forward and smiled, extending a hand. "The name's Jeff, and you are?"

"Dean, and this is my brother Sam." Dean shook his proffered hand. It felt cool in his own.

Sam took a breath and nodded. "Hey."

The way the strangers looked at them sent shivers down Sam's spine. It was like they were sizing up a good meal, and Sam had an idea that's exactly what they were doing.

A woman in the group came over to Dean and slid up behind him, nuzzling the side of his neck. Dean shrugged her off the best he could.

"I say we take this party elsewhere," she said as she twirled around in front of them. "There's so much I want to show you." She licked her lips.

Dean sucked in a breath and looked her over. "Lead the way."

They followed the group out of the bar, and the last thing Sam saw as they stepped out of the door was the barmaid shaking her head.

As they walked, the group circled them, herding them toward the woods.

Dean gave Sam a subtle look, asking if he was ready. Sam nodded back.

Once they were in the woods, the group separated, distancing themselves from them. Dean reached back and pulled out his gun at the same time Sam did.

There was a crashing sound, and Sam looked over to his right. There, standing in the shadows, was a large black dog, and it was walking straight toward him.

"Sammy, watch out!" Dean shouted. "They're all changing."

Sam swallowed and licked his lips, hands gripping the gun tightly. He fired a round and it hit its mark. The dog whined and fell to its side. He could hear Dean shooting behind him and turned around.

Dean had one dead dog at his feet and another to his side. That was three out of the five. There were two more somewhere in the shadows.

Dean could hear them circling in the darkness, and he stepped back closer to Sam, needing to know that he was safe.

There was a constant stream of growls coming from the around the trees. There was a snapping bark and then another crash. A second later, the two dogs came flying out of the trees, slamming into them before they could take aim.

The dog hit Dean hard, pinning him down as he struggled against him. Its jaws snapping just inches from his face.

Dean heard a cry from somewhere near him, and he knew it was Sam. Using all his strength he pushed the dog back enough so he could reach his silver knife. He plunged it into the creature's chest, and it fell on top of him, wheezing wet, slow breaths as it lost its struggle to survive.

There was a shot and a high whine of an animal in pain. Dean looked over at Sam, who was propped against a tree, holding his side. Dean rolled the weight of the dog off him and crawled toward Sam.

"Sam, are you all right?" Dean's hands were already going to his wounds.

Sam struggled to catch his breath. "Yeah, I think so."

"Let me take a look at your side." Dean was already kneeling in front of him.

Sam gritted his teeth against the pain. "I saw him again, Dean."

"Who?" Dean asked, hands lifting the torn material away from the gashes.

"Lucifer. Just for a second before the claw caught me. He was laughing."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean lifted Sam's shirt, exposing the gashes. They were rough and jagged and would be a bitch to stitch. He sighed and wiped the back of his hand against his brow.

They needed to get back to the motel and get the hell out of dodge before someone started poking around asking questions, but first he needed to get Sam to the car.

"Okay, Sammy. We need to get the hell out of here, so up you come," Dean said as he threaded an arm around Sam and hoisted him to his feet.

Sam wavered for a moment but could get his footing.

"Did it get you anywhere else?" Dean asked already checking over Sam.

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm good. It's just the ribs."

"All right, let's get out of here then."

Dean grabbed their weapons and came back to Sam's side. "Do you need a hand?"

"I'm okay. Let's go."

They made their way to the car, and Sam got in while Dean went around to the trunk to grab the first aid kit. He found the gauze and ripped open a few packets. He brought them around front and handed them to Sam.

"Keep pressure on it, okay? It's going to be a bit before we stop to stitch it. I want to put as much distance between us and this podunk town as possible."

Dean made a quick stop at the motel to grab their things and then they were on their way.

"How you doing over there?" Dean asked.

Sam had been quiet on the ride and Dean was worried that he in pain.

Sam looked over at him, eyes tired. He swallowed. "I'm okay."

"You sure? You don't look that great. You feeling queasy?"

Sam shook his head. "Side hurts, but other than that I'm good."

"Can you peel the gauze back quick for me? I want to see how the bleeding is."

Sam nodded and lifted his hand. The wounds stung and the gauze caught and pulled painfully, but the bleeding wasn't too bad.

"Looks okay. I think it can hold off for a bit longer. May not need stitches after all."

Sam pressed the gauze back to the wounds and leaned his head back. His mind was still reeling from having seen Lucifer again. If the devil hadn't appeared and startled him, he wouldn't have been caught unawares by the skinwalker.

Dean shifted in his seat. "So … have you seen him, Lucifer, I mean?"

Sam looked away, focusing on the passing scenery. "After the claws cut me, he disappeared. I think the pain made him go."

Dean drew a deep breath. There was no winning. Poor Sam couldn't catch a break. The only way he could go without the mental torture was to be in physical pain. How unfair was that?

"Well, why don't you close your eyes and get some shut eye? I'll wake you in a few hours when we reach Colorado."

Sam nodded and shifted so he was leaning against the door. He closed his eyes and let the faint roar of the Impala lull him to sleep.

xXx

Dean drove through the night until the early hours on the morning. When his eyes wouldn't stay open any longer, he pulled over at a truck stop. There was a small motel there and Dean pulled the car over to the lot.

There was a neon sign over the building flickering 24/7 Service. He made his way into the office and rang the bell. A moment later, a gum popping woman with frizzy hair came around the corner.

"What can I do you for?"

"I need a room."

"Well I've only got a single king left, and we charge by the hour, day or week. What'll you have?"

Dean grabbed his wallet. He glanced over his shoulder at the car. They really only needed a night, but a few days wouldn't go amiss. He pulled out pile of cash.

"Here's for tonight and I'll let you know if we need more."

"Sounds good, hon." The woman turned and grabbed a key from the wall. "Room eight. It's easy to find, right near the ice machine."

"Thanks," Dean said as he turned and left the office.

He walked over to the car and got in, driving over towards room eight. He parked in front of it and looked over at Sam, who was sound asleep.

He turned in his seat and lifted Sam's hand to see the gauze. There was no new blood.

He gently nudged Sam's shoulder. "Hey, we're here."

Sam stirred and his brow furrowed. He groaned and pressed his hand to his side. "What time is it?" he asked, trying to work the kinks out of his neck.

"Late, or early, depending on how you look at it."

"We in Colorado?"

"Yep, made over the border about an hour ago. Now, those gashes still need taking care of and I'm ready to crash, so you ready to go in?"

Sam nodded and reached for the door. He looked stiff and sore.

"Come on, big boy. Let's get you inside."

Carefully, Sam twisted in his seat and opened the door. Dean caught him wince.

Dean came around the front of the car and he saw how Sam was struggling and quickly went to his side. Sam was half out when he reached him. Dean slipped an arm around his waist and shouldered some of his weight, getting him all the way to his feet.

"Shit, this hurts, Dean."

Dean steadied him for a moment until he could stand on his own.

"You got it from here?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

Dean nodded but stayed close in case Sam needed him. He unlocked the room and they stepped inside, locking the door again behind them.

Dean tossed their bags down on the small table and flipped on the lights. It was dingy and the carpet that was probably once orange shag was now threadbare in places. It was a dive but they'd had worse.

"There's only one bed," Sam pointed out as he made his way over to it. He sat down with a grimace.

Dean shrugged. "Shouldn't be a big deal. We've shared before."

Sam nodded and looked around the room. He tried not to imagine how much bacteria was growing on the walls alone.

Dean rummaged through the bag until he found everything he needed and then he went to Sam's side.

He knelt in front of Sam and carefully touched his side. "How's the pain?"

"I'm okay."

Dean nodded and set the things he gathered on the nightstand. "I've got to get this shirt off you, okay?"

Sam nodded and yawned.

He began to struggle to get the fabric up but Dean stopped him. "Here, let me."

Dean gently worked the fabric up and over Sam's head, exposing his chest and stomach. The cuts looked angry and red, and Dean cursed himself for not stopping earlier to clean them.

Dean stood and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. "You're gonna want to lay down for this."

Dean helped Sam to lie back, and he even fluffed the pillow for him.

Dean got up and went into the bathroom to find a towel. Thankfully there was a shelf filled with them. He grabbed one and went back to Sam.

He tucked it under the side where the cuts were. He opened the whiskey and gave Sam an apologetic look. "Do you need something to bite down on?"

Sam shook his head. "Just do it."

Dean nodded and with a shaky hand he poured the amber liquid over the wounds.

The pain hit Sam hard, and he gritted his teeth. This wasn't like the pain of cutting. He had no control over this.

"Shit," Sam hissed. "Burns."

Dean looked down at Sam sympathetically. "I didn't get them all."

Sam blinked at Dean through teary eyes. "It's okay, just do it."

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. He knew he had to do this but hurting Sam was something he never wanted to do. "I'll make it quick." Dean tipped the bottle again and Sam cried out. Dean flinched at the sound.

"There, all done." Dean patted the site with the edge of the towel. "Just let me bandage them up and you'll be good."

Dean grabbed the gauze and tape. He quickly bandaged the gashes.

Sam's eyes had fallen closed listening to the sound of Dean working. Even though he was in pain, he was content. Lucifer couldn't come to him when he was in pain. It was just him and Dean and that's all that mattered.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean's voice came from beside him. "I need to check on the stiches before we crash."

"M'kay," Sam said sleepily, raising his hips.

"Oh, I see how it is, I get to do all the work," Dean chuckled.

"Yep," Sam said, "Too tired."

Dean shook his head but reached for the button on Sam's pants. He quickly undid them and shimmied them down and off, leaving Sam in his boxers.

Dean peeled back the tape and lifted the gauze. They looked good. They would be able to come out soon. He tossed the old bandage and quickly redressed it.

By the time he was done, Sam was snoring quietly, sound asleep. He looked peaceful for a minute, something Dean hadn't seen in a long time.

Dean's keen eye caught a shiver pass through Sam. He hated to wake him up again, but it was cool and Sam was on the wrong side of the covers.

"Come on, you big sasquatch," Dean said, peeling the covers back on the other side of the bed. "Time to get into bed."

Sam grumbled, "I am in bed. "

Dean chuckled and walked over the other side of the bed. He gently nudged Sam.

Sam made a noise close to a growl and then rolled carefully to the other side of the bed. "You suck."

Dean smiled. "Go to sleep, Princess."

Sam raised his hand, flipping Dean off. Dean laughed. "Maybe later."

Dean covered up Sam and then kicked off his boots and jeans, climbing into bed.

Dean was woken sometime hours later by the sound of someone whimpering. Dean blinked and looked over at Sam's sleeping form. His hands were in fists and his neck corded with strain. Dean could see the hard set of his jaw. Whatever Sam was dreaming about it was painful.

Dean propped himself up on an elbow. He began to make quiet soothing noises and scooted closer to him in the bed. Moving slowly, he placed a hand gently on Sam's shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

"It's okay, Sammy. You can wake up now."

Sam's eyes squeezed tight and he arched his back. "No!"

Dean's heart contracted painfully. He could only imagine the monsters that haunted his brother's dreams. He wished he could go back and kill the man who'd hurt him again, but he took solace in knowing that the death he delivered was a painful one. His years in hell at the rack ensured that.

Dean moved his hand to Sam's chest. It was damp with sweat and he could feel his heart pounding beneath his hand.

"It's okay, Sam. I'm here. Wake up for me."

Sam's brow furrowed and he blinked his eyes open. A tear ran down his cheek. "Dean?"

Dean reached over and brushed the hair out of Sam's eyes. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, okay."

Sam nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam licked at his lips and swallowed. "I don't think you want to know."

"Was it bad?"

Sam looked down at the bed. "Yeah, it was."

Dean bit his lip. "You don't need to go through this alone, Sam. You can talk to me."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it. I just don't know where to begin."

"Start with who were you dreaming about?"

Sam picked at the skin by his nail. "Lucifer."

Dean placed his hand over Sam's, stopping him from hurting himself further. "What was he doing to you?"

Dean really didn't want to hear it, but he knew Sam needed to say it. Dean had been in hell enough to know what made people buck and scream in pain. He hated thinking that any of those things could have happened to Sam.

Dean ran his thumb across the back of Sam's hand. "Do you want to talk about it later?"

Sam chewed on his lip. "I think the worst part of it is that I know it's not a dream. They're memories."

Dean sucked in a breath and gave Sam's hand a squeeze.

A tear trickled down Sam's cheek. "He would call me his bitch … and I guess I was."

"Sam …" Dean worst fears were coming to fruition. It was something he had always suspected happened in Hell, but hearing it was a different matter.

"I'm dirty, Dean," Sam whispered.

That got Dean's attention more than anything else.

"Sam, look at me," Dean commanded, reaching up and grabbing Sam's chin. "Don't you ever say that. You're not dirty."

"But it's the truth, Dean, and you know it."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's not and I don't want to hear that word come from you again. Just trust me when I say it, Sam, you're not dirty."


	6. Chapter 6

Dean rolled over and watched the rise and fall of Sam's chest, the slow snuffling breathes sending a bit of reassurance through Dean. Sam was okay for now, but what did that really mean? Every time things seemed to be getting better, they took a turn for the worse. The thought that Sam truly believed he was dirty made Dean's stomach sink. There were days that Dean was so overwhelmed with everything that he didn't even know how to be there for Sam. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. It wasn't like he had any experience or training in psychology. Stitches he could do, but how do you heal emotional damage like Sam's? He sighed and rolled back over. He had to find a way to get him through this.

When morning came, Sam was up and making coffee before Dean had even thought of rising. He grumbled in protest as Sam's big feet stomped around the room. He blinked wearily and picked up his head to look at the clock. It was six in the morning. Dean dropped his head back into the pillow and tried to will himself back to sleep. The smell of coffee began to fill the air and he could hear the rustling of a newspaper.

Deciding the prospect of sleeping was out, he threw off his covers and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. Yawning, he glanced over at Sam. "Is there food?"

Sam lowered the paper, glancing over it at Dean. "Yeah, I went out for donuts."

"It's six am, where do you find donuts at six am? You know what, never mind. Feed me."

Sam chuckled and reached down, grabbing a box of donuts from a brown paper bag on the floor, tossing them to Dean. "Enjoy. Expired two days ago. Best I could do."

Dean shrugged, opening the box. He sniffed the contents. "Good enough," he said, grabbing one and taking a bite. He chewed as he watched Sam who was scratching down notes on a piece of paper. "What's up?"

Sam seemed in good spirits and Dean was thankful.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Just looking over something I found in the paper. Maybe our kind of thing."

Dean pushed himself off the bed and walked over to Sam, grabbing the notes and inspecting them. "This looks like nothing." Dean dropped the notes back on the table. "Hate to sound cliché but looks a lot like an animal attack to me. Not our thing."

Sam huffed and crossed his arms. "We should at least check."

"Sam, we can't check every animal attack. That doesn't even look like an exotic animal, more like a rabid chihuahua, let alone a werewolf."

"Fine, I'm just looking for things to stay busy," Sam said, looking down.

Dean could understand Sam's need for distraction. Hell, Dean was the same way. It was the Winchester way. Bury yourself in work to escape what's gnawing at you.

"We don't always need to stay busy. You haven't even healed up from our last hunt. Maybe we should head to Bobby's, take a few weeks off. Get some real sleep," Dean suggested. The truth was, Dean had every plan to take them to Bobby's next anyway. He had thought of it last night. He would just rather Sam go along happily.

"Is this because of, you know, everything that happened?" Sam asked, looking down at his hands. Dean could see he was picking at his nails again. He wanted to say something, but he knew this wasn't the time.

"I just think we could all use some rest. I know I could."

Sam looked down at the notes on the table, picking them up for a moment before crumpling them in a ball. "Yeah, okay. We can go I guess. Haven't seen Bobby in a long time anyway."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He needed help and he knew the older hunter might be able to guide him on how to help Sam. They couldn't just keep going on the road they were on, Sam hurting himself to keep hallucinations of the devil away, it wasn't healthy. It was dangerous.

"We'll stay here for a bit longer, let your side heal up a bit, then we'll head out."

xXx

Sam rested his head against the cool glass of the Impala window. It was going to be a long ride to Bobby's. The pain in Sam's ribs was almost gone. It worried Sam. What was he going to do when it went away? He couldn't face Lucifer taunting him again. He couldn't let Dean down again for the thousandth time. He was a failure. His life had been one long line of mistakes. It made him feel sick. He was dirty. Disgusting. Maybe he should just take off? Dean would be better off without him there.

"Now that's the kind of great ideas I'm talking about, Sammy!" Lucifer's voice came from the backseat. Sam froze unable to move. His hand slid up to his side and he tried pressing on the wound. He waited, afraid to look over his shoulder. He didn't hear another sound so he thought it worked. Slowly, he moved his head so he could see in the mirror. He sucked in a breath at what he saw in the reflection. Lucifer was grinning widely, waving over Sam's shoulder.

"Hiya, Sam boy. You didn't think that was going to make me leave did you. That little gesture of pain. I think I deserve a bit more than that after all the time we've spent together."

Sam's heart began to pound in his chest, his breath coming in pants. The car slowed and came to stop but Sam was unable to speak. He reached up to press again on the wounds again but a warm hand firmly grasps his wrist.

"Sam, Sammy," Dean's voice came through his panic.

Sam looked over at Dean, pleading for help with his eyes. He flicked his gaze to the backseat and back to Dean.

Dean turned and looked. "There's nothing there, Sam."

"Yeah, Sam, there's nothing there," Lucifer mocked with a giggle. "Oh, this is fun. I missed this, you and me."

Sam began to visibly shake. He looked at Dean. "I need to, Dean. He's here. I can't have him here."

"No, Sammy. No way!" Dean shifted the car into drive and pulled back on the road. "We'll be at Bobby's soon. Just hang on."

Lucifer began to whine from the backseat about being bored. Sam reached over and turned up the radio. Squeezing his eyes shut and curling up in the seat. Afraid to lean back to far. He didn't want Lucifer to touch him.

Sam glanced over at Dean. His face was tight and he kept looking between Sam and the road.

"You're gonna be alright, Sam."

Sam nodded. He just wanted to get away. He felt trapped in the car. Dean's intense gaze. Lucifer's constant chatter from the backseat. It was all too much. He reached for the handle of the door. He wasn't thinking. He was acting on instinct. He pulled the door open and the car swerved as Dean shouted no. It happened all too fast. He felt a hand grab him hard and yank him back. The car came to a lurching halt.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. What the fuck was that?" Dean still hadn't let go of Sam.

"O-M-G, Sam! That was just spectacular! Bravo!" Lucifer cheered, leaning over the seat. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"I'm sorry, Dean. You don't understand. He won't stop. I just need it to stop." Sam gripped his hair in his hands and pulled at the roots. He began to rock.

Dean sighed. "We are almost at Bobby's. Please, Sam, do you think you can hold it together long enough to get there?"

Sam didn't want to let Dean down. He had to try. "Yeah, I can try."

"That's the spirit, sport," Lucifer said, plonking back in his seat.

"Just try to hurry, Dean." Sam drew his legs up on the seat and curled up. "Can you turn the radio up? He's singing."

Dean looked over. "Singing?"

"Yeah, lullabies."

Dean didn't say another word. He reached for the knob and cranked the music. Sam relaxed a bit not being able to hear the devil. Against all odds, Sam drifted off to sleep.

xXx

Dean couldn't believe the shit that had happened on the ride. He knew things were bad, but he had no idea they were that bad. Seeing Sam nearly off himself just to get away from his own mind terrified Dean. Sam was in bad shape. He hoped Bobby had some ideas. He pulled the car into the old salvage yard and followed the long driveway down to the house. He hadn't called ahead but they were always welcome, though maybe he should have given Bobby the heads up about Sam.

Dean shifted the car into park and turned it off. He turned to Sam and gave him a gentle shake. "Hey, Sam. We're here."

Sam jumped, looking around in panic, eyes wide.

"Easy, just me. How about we go say hi to Bobby, get something to eat, maybe a shower," Dean said, hoping to sound upbeat. When in reality, he was scared shitless of how he was going to keep his brother safe.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good. I could use some food."

"Good, let's go then." Dean grabbed their duffels from the backseat and they made their way to the door.

Dean knocked, and a moment later, they heard the lock click and the door opened. The barrel of a shotgun was pointed at Dean's chest. "Well, hello to you, too, Bobby," Dean said flatly, putting up his hands.

The barrel of the gun lowered and Bobby squinted from under his hat. "Dean? Sam?"

"In the flesh. We were in the area and thought we'd stop by."

Bobby reached for something then a splash of cold water met Dean's face. "Was that really necessary?"

Bobby shrugged. "You didn't think of calling first. I almost shot you, you idgit."

Dean sighed. He was tired. "Can we come in or what?"

Bobby nodded and backed out of the way. "Yeah, come on in, you want some food. Just made some beans."

Dean stepped inside, checking over his shoulder to make sure Sam was following. He didn't need him running off. "Yeah, food might be good. You think we can bunk here for a while. We've been hitting cases hard and we both could use a rest."

"Sure thing, Dean. You know you're always welcome here." Bobby walked over and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the table and passed it to Dean. "From the look on your face, you need this more than me."

"Does it really show that much?" Dean asked, not thinking his words impact on Sam. He glanced over at him and saw him looking down at the floor, wringing his hands. "Actually, I'll pass for now," he said, setting the bottle down on a stack of books.

"You alright there, Sam?" Bobby asked, looking Sam over.

Sam crossed his arms and pulled into himself, turning his back to them.

Bobby glanced and Dean with concern.

Dean shook his head. He'd have to explain sooner or later, but he didn't think he needed to do it in front of Sam. Sam needed to believe they were here just for rest, not because Dean was feeling overwhelmed and scared by magnitude of the situation.

"Well, the foods still hot if you want some. You know where the kitchen is," Bobby said. "I'll bring your bags up to your rooms."

"Actually, Bobby, can you put us in the same room?"

Bobby's brow pinched in confusion.

Dean just put up a hand and shook his head, mouthing 'I'll tell you later.'

Bobby grabbed the bags and made his way upstairs. Dean walked over to Sam. He was acting twitchy and Dean wondered if he was seeing Lucifer in the room again. He wondered what the devil was saying or doing. Dean couldn't imagine what it must be like to have that happening. Your nightmares come to life, taunting you.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said, touching a hand to Sam's back. "Let's go grab some grub."

"I'm not hungry anymore." Sam's voice was void of emotion and it worried Dean. He wondered what had changed since they were leaving the car. He had just been hungry.

"What's changed? You feeling okay?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, not really."

"I'm sure Bobby's got some Pepto around here somewhere. Want me to ask?"

Sam shook his head again. "Won't help."

Dean studied him for a moment. "Does this have to do with … You know, him?"

"He was showing me things … Bobby … Lucifer was playing with his intestines."

Dean's lips parted in horror. It took him a second to gather his thoughts. "Well, you know it's not real. Bobby is fine."

Sam nodded. "Can I go lay down?"

"Can I trust you?" Dean looked Sam in the eyes, studying his face.

"Please, Dean. I just want to sleep."

After the latest turn of events, Dean felt uneasy about letting him go, but he needed time to talk to Bobby. He wouldn't leave Sam alone long anyways.

"Head on up, Sam. I'll be up in a bit." Dean gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"Thanks." Sam said, turning and walking up the stairs.

A few moments later, Bobby came down. He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "I know Sam could be squirrely at times as a kid but now? What the hell happened, Dean? Why are you really here?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know where to start. It's just a mess. I don't even know if I should say anything."

"You can always talk to me, kid. I'm practically family,"

"I don't know how else to say it, so I'm just gonna come out with it," Dean said. "Sam's seeing Lucifer, and not just that, he's hurting himself to make him go away."

Bobby's mouth opened and closed. "He's seeing the devil?"

"Yeah, and he nearly jumped out of the car on the way here to get away."

"So, that's why you're really here. Sam?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Dean ran his over his face. "I need to go check on him. We can pick this up later. There's a lot to talk about, but I don't want him doing anything stupid."

Bobby still looked in shock over it all. "Yeah, good idea. I'll make him a plate."

"He's not hungry. I already asked."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was finally asleep. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He walked downstairs and into the den. He plonked down on the ratty old chair and waited for Bobby. They'd made it to Bobby's, and that was a feat in of itself. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remember the times before all this, but then he realized he couldn't. Every memory he had was touched in some way by it all. The way Sam had shied away from touch as a child, the nightmares he had all his life that Dean had chalked up to the odd monster, little did he know the real monster that haunted him. Now with Lucifer poking around in his brain, Dean wondered if Sam would crack. There was only so much a man could take.

"Want me to let you sleep?" Bobby's voice came from beside Dean.

Dean's opened his eyes, bringing a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "No, I'm fine. Just long trip." He pushed himself up in the chair and took the proffered glass of whiskey from Bobby. "Thanks." He nodded.

"No problem," Bobby said, taking a sip and walking over to lean on the table. "So, how's Sam?"

"I got him to sleep. It took a bit. He said Lucifer was singing again."

"Singing?" Bobby asked, raising a brow.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, Sam says he likes to sing him lullabies."

"Well, ain't that something," Bobby said, taking a sip. "And you sure it's his mind making this all up. He's not really back?"

"Yeah, pretty sure it's all in his head."

"I don't get it. I know Sam's got some issues from Hell, but he was doing okay. Why did this start all of a sudden? Doesn't make any sense." Bobby scratched at the back of his head.

Dean raked a hand over his stubbly beard. "Yeah it does, there's more, Bobby. Things I haven't told you."

"Well, get on with it. What can be so bad?"

Dean looked at Bobby and sighed. "You can't ever tell Sam I told you. You have to promise me, Bobby."

Bobby looked concerned. "I swear. Anything you say is between us."

Dean pushed himself to stand, setting the glass down on the table. He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the room. He didn't know where to start or even if he should, but Bobby couldn't help only knowing half the truth. He felt like he was betraying Sam if he told, but he had to do something. He was losing Sam more every day.

Dean drew a breath and started. "It started back at Plucky's. Remember that case I called you about?"

Bobby nodded. "Go on."

"I feel like shit for it know, but I was being a dick to Sam about the clowns. He's always been afraid of them. I thought it was just some weird phobia. I didn't realize, Bobby. I didn't know." Dean stopped, a painful lump forming in his throat.

"Didn't know what?"

Dean could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He paused his pacing and looked at Bobby. He saw Bobby's face grow tight with concern. Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and drew a breath, centering himself. "Dad and I had a hunt, back when we were kids. Sam was too young to go so we left him at a Plucky's. Things ran later than we thought. We should have never left him, Bobby."

"Dean." Bobby's voice was gruff. "What happened to Sam?"

Dean eyes met Bobby's. "A guy, a clown, he grabbed him, Bobby. My brother. He did things. Sam never told us. We should have been there to protect him. What kind of brother am I?" Dean choked a sob.

Bobby sucked in a breath and pulled off his hat, running a hand through his hair. The hunter looked to age in seconds. The lines on his face looked deeper and Dean thought he saw the glistening of tears in his eyes. Bobby fiddled with his hat for a moment before throwing it, turning and sweeping a stack of books off the table. Bobby leaned against the table with his hands, head hung. "Is there more?"

"I killed him. The man, I mean. I would do it again, too," Dean said flatly.

Bobby let out a breath. "Did you make him suffer?"

Dean's mind went back to the house, back to the man as he tried to crawl away from him on broken limbs. "Yeah, he suffered."

"Good," Bobby said, pushing himself up. He walked over and grabbed his hat, fixing the brim and putting it back on his head. "So, all this shit opened Pandora's Box then."

Dean nodded. "I think so. Him admitting what happened split the crack in his veneer and Lucifer has found a way out through it. We need a way to help him find real acceptance and we really need to help him find better ways to cope because I can't stomach seeing him carve himself up."

Bobby drew a breath. "I got every book out there on demons and lore, but nothing on psychology. Monster's bleed, like you're father always said. If it bleeds, you can kill it. This, this is an entirely different kind of monster. I don't know what to do."

Dean was hoping Bobby would have a clue, some idea, but he was as useless as Dean. Hunter's didn't talk about feelings. It wasn't physical. It's not like it could be healed by stitches. It was in his mind. It was his thoughts. They were corrupting him, making him harm himself, making him punish himself. Dean thought back to Sam calling himself dirty. They needed to change how Sam saw himself. They needed to help him find value in himself again.

Dean sighed. "Well, it's late. We should both get some sleep. I know I'm beat. We can talk more tomorrow. I don't like leaving Sam alone long anyway. He gets nightmares."

"Yeah, go take care of Sam. We can talk later. Maybe I can make some calls. There has to be some help out there somewhere."

Dean nodded and gave Bobby a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Anytime, you boys are like my own," Bobby said, "I just wish you had called sooner. Maybe I could have helped. I'd at least have liked a chance to cut the son of bitches balls off while he was still kicking."

"We're here now, Bobby. You can help now," Dean said. "I'm heading up. See you in the morning"

xXx

Dean turned the doorknob to the bedroom as gently as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Sam. The door creaked open and Dean silently cursed the old house. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Sam was asleep, but he must have had a nightmare already. There was a sheen of sweat on Sam's brow and his legs were twisted in the sheets, the blanket lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. Dean cursed himself for not being by his side. He untied his boots and toed them off. He was tired from all the driving. He looked over and saw Bobby had setup up a cot in the room for Dean. He walked over and sat on the edge. Bobby had left his duffel on the cot. Dean was thankful for having such a good friend. He grabbed the bag and pulled out a white tee and his blue flannel pants, stuffing the bag under the cot.

He got dressed and walked over to the bed. Sam's brow was pinched and his breathing was starting to pick up pace.

"Shhh, Sammy," Dean whispered. He wasn't sure if he should touch him or not. Sometimes it soothed him, others it made the nightmares worse. Sam's face started to contort in pain and a whimper escaped his lips. Dean knew he needed to wake Sam.

He gently touched Sam's shoulder. "Sam, Sammy, it's okay. You can wake up."

Sam's breaths were coming in pants and he started to squirm in the bed.

"Sam, come on. Wake up," Dean said firmly, giving him a little shake.

His brother was in distress and not waking up. He back arched and he cried out. Dean's hands went to him, touching and soothing, moving over him trying to calm him.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted. He hadn't seen a nightmare this bad in a while.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he looked around widely, pushing himself up in the bed. He was shaking and covered in sweat. His eyes met Dean's and he started to calm.

"Did I wake you?" Sam asked as he reached for the blankets and started to cover himself back up.

There was a knock at the door. "You boys alright in there?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Everything fine. You can go back to bed."

Sam looked over at Dean, appearing apologetic. "I woke Bobby up?"

Dean drew a breath. "Yeah, seemed like a bad one. You wanna talk about it?"

Dean watched as Sam fiddled with the hem of the sheet. "Not really. Not tonight."

Dean studied him for a minute. Sammy really needed to start opening up about things, but it had been a long day, and a long few weeks, so he could let it slide this once. It was late and Sam was looking like shit. There were dark bags under his eyes, and as Dean looked him over he realized that Sam was looking pretty thin, too. It was like Sam was just withering away. He was losing his brother a little bit more each day and it terrified him.

"Alright," Dean said, getting up. "You want your blanket back before I lay down?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean let out a breath and scratched a hand at the back of his head. "Blanket it is."

Dean grabbed the blanket and tossed it on Sam, smoothing out the wrinkles.

He glanced up at Sam's face, he looked like he was about to cry. "Sam?"

Sam looked down at his hands.

"What is it?" Dean asked. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He brought up a hand and soothingly rubbed Sam's arm. "Is it … I mean, do you feel like cutting?"

Sam looked up at him with watery eyes and nodded.

"Is he here right now?" Dean asked. He didn't like saying Lucifer's name. It seemed like it made it more real.

Sam shook his head but didn't elaborate.

"Was it your dream?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Yeah."

Dean wondered if he should press Sam. He didn't want to push him too far and make things worse. Hoping he was making the right decision, he asked. "Were you dreaming about hell."

Sam shook his head. "It was so real. I was little again. I could feel it all again, how much it hurt."

Dean sighed and ran his hand over his mouth. He felt sick. He felt angry. He wished he could go back and do more to the man that had hurt Sam. He wondered if maybe he should have never asked Sam why he was afraid of clowns to begin with. It was Dean's doing that Sam was so bad off now. He pulled the thread that was Sam's undoing. Sam had handled it all these years. Somehow, he managed day to day and made it through. Dean had to keep asking, he couldn't leave it alone and now his brother is broken in ways that might be unfixable.

Dean's stomach started to churn with the thoughts of what could have been happening in Sam's dream. He only knew the vague details. The images that his mind produced made his stomach do a flip and suddenly he knew he was going to puke. He pushed himself from the bed and out the door and done the hall to the bathroom where he retched into the toilet.

He heard footsteps coming and quickly flushed the toilet and pushed himself to stand. As he turned, he saw Sam standing in the doorway looking more broken and hurt then Dean ever thought possible.

"Sammy," Dean said, reaching out as he walked forward to comfort his brother.

Sam stepped back out of his reach, shaking his head, tears in his eyes. "I'm so dirty and disgusting I made you puke."

"No!" Dean shouted. "Goddammit, Sammy, No!" Dean walked up to Sam, but Sam kept backing away.

"I'll stay in the other room. I don't want to make you sick." Sam turned and walked down the hall.

Dean turned and slammed his fist into the wall. How could he have screwed up so bad? Fuck. He had just undone all the work he'd done. What was he going to do now?


	8. Chapter 8

Sam's breaths were coming in gasps, his chest ached, and the room spun. The image of Dean retching in the toilet was fresh in his mind. He leaned back against the locked door to the bedroom. He could hear Dean pleading from the other side. Sam didn't want to hear it though. He knew it all along. Even Dean found him disgusting, and why not after the things that had happened to him? After the clown had his way, after he was Lucifer's plaything. He shouldn't have expected anything different.

He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. Feeling himself calm, he opened his eyes, only to see Lucifer, perched on the edge of the table, watching Sam curiously. Sam looked away, but he could feel the devil's cold gaze burning a hole through him.

"Listen to him out there," Lucifer started. "Pleading like you don't have a reason to be upset. He betrayed you, Sammy. He _lied_ to you."

Sam glanced at the fallen angel. There was some truth to his words that he didn't want to admit. Lucifer looked pleased Sam was acknowledging him.

"Now that I've got your attention." Lucifer smirked. "We can talk." He hopped down from the table and walked over the dresser, picking up Bobby's dusty photos and examining them. "I never understood family. Wasn't my thing really, too much drama. You know what I mean?" He cocked his head to the side. "Of course you do, just listen to that whining outside the door." He motioned casually in the air toward the door that Sam stood leaned against.

Sam knew he had made a mistake acknowledging the devil. He looked away, his fists clenching hard, digging his nails into his palms. Sam caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked only to see Lucifer smirk and duck into Sam's line of sight, his fingers waving a hello. Sam tried to lick his lips but his mouth was too dry. He needed out of there, but what was worse, having the devil pick apart your thoughts or facing Dean after what had just happened?

"I don't think Dean is going anywhere," Lucifer said as he sauntered over to Sam, cold eyes looking through him. Sam felt vulnerable, like the devil was seeing everything Sam had ever wanted to hide.

"Oh, I do see it, Sam," Lucifer chimed, stopping in front of him. He twirled a finger in the air over Sam's head. "I've seen every part of you, every little shadow that hides in that melon of yours. I've seen it. You've showed me in your dreams. I'm not Dean, Sam. You can't hide from me. That's why I'm here—to help."

Sam swallowed and shook his head, digging his nails harder into his palms. "You're not real."

Lucifer chuckled and turned walking over to plonk down on the bed. The fallen angel scratched at his stubbly face then ruffed his hair. "You're stubborn, you know that? Worse than Michael and that's saying a lot."

Dean banged on the door. "Sam! Who are you talking to?"

"Uh oh!" Lucifer chimed. "Dean-o, is anxious, but then again, when isn't he? Come on, Sam. Talk to me. I'm bored. We're family. You and me." He motioned between them. "We are connected. Don't you feel it? Don't you remember all our special times." Lucifer stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

Sam's heart began to beat faster and sweat began to bead on his brow. He couldn't let Lucifer get to him. He had to stand up to him. If he was really a figment of his imagination, then it was reasonable he'd be able to will it away. He just need to center himself and put the fear aside.

Sam unclenched his fists and flexed his fingers. They were stiff. He tried to relax himself. Lucifer watched him with the curiosity of a cat.

"I want you to leave," Sam said firmly, concentrating with all he had. "You and me, we aren't family. Now go!"

Lucifer looked at him seriously for moment before bursting into laughter, full body shaking laughter. The devil threw his head back and cackled, "Now that's funny!"

Sam shifted his weight between his feet. He felt himself sinking. He thought he heard what sounded like a sob from outside the door. It couldn't be Dean, but Sam could hear him chanting apologies and pleading for forgiveness. He swallowed hard and wondered how long Dean would keep it up. Sam was hurt, he was angry, and he just wanted to be alone. Why couldn't Dean understand?

"If I can't come in, I'll sleep here. I'm not leaving you alone," Dean said. There was a thud, presumably Dean's head hitting the door. "I mean it, Sam. I'm sorry, please. It was nothing to do with you." There was a rustling noise and the shadow beneath the door changed. Dean was sitting on the floor outside the door.

Sam sighed. It had everything to do with Sam and they both knew it. Dean could try to lie, but Sam wasn't stupid. He heard about Sam's dream and got physically ill, ill thinking of him. The same way he had run to the bathroom months ago when Dean had first found out. Sam was something vile. Dean just didn't have the heart to tell the truth. Lying was their way though. Softening the blows with half-truths and fairytales. Sam was just as guilty of it as Dean. He really couldn't blame him for lying.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean's strained voice came through the door again.

As much as Sam wanted to leave his brother sleeping on the floor, he sighed and turned. Sam wasn't ready to face him, but it had to happen sooner or later. He couldn't spend the night with devil alone. He rubbed the sweat from his hands on his flannel pants and reached for the door.

"You sure you want to do that, Sam boy?" Lucifer asked, now stretched out on the bed, ankles crossed. "I think me and you bunking together would be a lot more fun. We could take a walk down memory lane. Maybe have a chat about that clown friend of yours."

Sam sucked in a breath.

Lucifer looked apologetic. "I told you I'm here to help."

Sam pressed his hand into the wound on his side, pressing his fingers into the nearly healed gashes, digging and prying into the stitches. He could feel the stitches pulling and he relished the pain. It felt good. He was grounded. He felt in control again.

Lucifer chuckled. "I'm here to stay, Sammy." Lucifer swung his feet and pushed himself off the bed. He walked over to Sam, a small frown on his lips. "Are you upset about the Bobby thing?"

Flashes of the gruesome scene of Lucifer eviscerating Bobby in the den sent a shiver through Sam. He dug his fingers harder into the gashes on his side in a vain attempt to make it all stop. The magic was gone though. It wasn't working.

Lucifer raked a hand over his face. "Do I need to apologize? Fine. I'm sorry," Lucifer drawled out. "Geesh, lighten up, Samuel. It was only a joke." Lucifer huffed. "Just look at you, standing like you have a stick up your ass. I have the best in mind for you. I'm here for you, Sam. I'm the only person that can be. I've seen it all."

Blood began to trickle down Sam's side and he realized he was still digging into the wound. He brought his hand up to his face in horror. His fingers were dripping in blood. He quickly checked his side and it was drenched in blood. His heart pounded. He couldn't hide this from Dean. Dean was gonna know.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek. He felt completely out of control. Even pain wasn't enough to stop the chaos. A sob broke from him. He hugged his arms around himself. What was he going to do? He was trapped between facing Dean and the Devil—and spending the night in Lucifer's company almost seemed easier than facing Dean after what he'd done to himself.

"Please, Sammy," Dean said through the door. Sam would almost swear he was crying, but Dean didn't cry. Dean drank. He raged. He didn't cry. Real Winchester's were strong. It was Sam that was weak. He had always been the weak link, the one needing protecting, the one getting hurt.

"What are you going to do, Sammy?" Lucifer stood, hands folded under his chin. "Personally, I think you should stay with me, though I'm a bit partial to myself. I mean really, who wouldn't want me?" He grinned.

Was he ready to face Dean? Lucifer was right. Dean had betrayed him. He had been putting on a show this whole time. When in reality, he was disgusted by him. He seen enough evidence of that tonight watching his brother heave in the toilet.

Lucifer looked at Sam, picking his nails. "Well? How long do you need to think this over? Obviously, going out there isn't an option."

Sam had had enough of listening to the fallen angel. He had to get out of there. He wiped his bloody hand off on his pants and turned away from the devil. Maybe he was being selfish, but he needed Dean—even if Dean did see him as a filthy monster.

Sam grabbed the knob, unclicking the lock and opening the door, stepping back and allowing the door to swing open. Dean scrambled to his feet. He looked completely disheveled. His hair was pulled in all directions like he hand been tugging at the roots. His eyes were red and swollen like he'd been crying. Immediately, Sam felt a wave of guilt seeing his brother look so broken. Any anger he had was gone.

xXx

"Jesus." Dean was already reaching for Sam, seeing the blood soaking the side of Sam's shirt. Shit. He'd really done some damage. This was bad. "It's okay, Sam. You're gonna be alright. This is my fault, not yours. I should have never—dammit, Sammy. It wasn't you," Dean rambled, trying to find the right words. He just wanted to wrap his brother in his arms and protect him from all that haunted him.

Sam wasn't responding though. He was just standing there, staring at the floor, blood soaking his side. There were dark circles under his eyes. The lines of his face were deeper, and he looked tired, but not just physically—in every way imaginable. He kept his gaze averted as Dean took step a forward, slowing extending a hand to reach for his side. He needed to see the damage. Sam stepped back, and Dean stopped.

"Easy, Sam," Dean reassured. He looked like a cornered animal, trapped between the dark bedroom and Dean.

Dean took another step forward, hands raised placatingly. Sam didn't move back so Dean slowly reached out to him until his fingers touched his arm. Sam's arm twitched but he didn't move.

"Good, I'm not gonna hurt you." Dean wondered what was going through Sam's mind. He looked skittish and Dean hoped it wasn't him that he was afraid of now. Sam glanced over his shoulder at the empty room, his face contorted, and then he looked back to the floor. Dean glanced past Sam and saw nothing there though. Whoever or whatever Sam had just seen existed only in his brother's mind.

Dean let his fingertips rest on Sam's arm for a moment before taking the final step that would bring them face to face. Sam looked at Dean, his eyes empty. It broke Dean's heart. Did Sam mean what he said through the door? That they weren't family. Had he hurt Sam enough that his brother truly believed it? Dean wanted nothing more than to tell him how sorry again, but Sam's side was bleeding. It would have to wait.

"Okay, Sam. I need to take a look at these." Dean said as calmly as he could. "You wanna do it here or in the room?"

"Room," Sam sad flatly.

Dean slid a gentle hand behind Sam and guided him back to the bedroom.

Dean walked Sam over to the bed. Sam sat robotically. His gaze going to the floor. He wasn't talking, and it almost bothered Dean more than the damage he had done to himself. He wished Sam would just open up. What was going on in his head?

Dean knelt in front of Sam. "Is it okay if I take a look?"

Sam nodded, his head hung, hair a curtain around his eyes.

"Okay." Dean moved slow. He grabbed the hem of Sam's bloodied tee and lifted it. What he saw made him suck in a breath. Sam had torn the stiches from his flesh. Guilt crashed over Dean, nearly sweeping him away. If he hadn't lost his cool earlier, if he had just held onto his stomach, Sam's chest wouldn't look like hamburger. He needed to keep his cool this time. He couldn't afford another mistake that would make Sam feel even worse about himself. The thing was, he wasn't sure he could stitch this up himself. It was a mess. It was going to take more than two hands to get the edges back together, if they could, and it was going to leave a nasty scar.

Dean let the fabric drop and he stood. Sam was still sitting silently. He had to be in terrible pain. Dean knew he was going to need Bobby's help fixing it up. How was Sam going to react to Bobby seeing it? There wasn't much of another option other than heading out to the hospital. Dean rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. He'd have to tell Sam and there was no knowing how it was going to go. Sam could shut down even more.

"Sam, can you look at me for a minute?"

Dean watched, a few seconds past, and Dean began to think that Sam had just completely shut down, but then his head lifted, and his eyes met Dean's. "Is it bad?" Sam asked. "Are you mad?"

Dean sighed. "I'm not mad, Sam, but yeah, it's pretty bad. I don't think I can stitch it alone. We can either go to the hospital or I can get Bobby." Dean tried to sound as causal as he could. He needed to put Sam at ease. "I know Bobby's got some tranquilizers. We can knock you out for it."

Sam stared at him expressionless. It felt like an eternity passed before Sam spoke. "I don't want to go the hospital."

"Okay, then I'll get Bobby. Don't worry. I'll make up something for now." Dean lied. He felt terrible, but he knew it wasn't the right time to tell Sam that Bobby already knew near everything. Maybe Dean was doing the wrong thing, but what else was he supposed to do? His brother was hanging on by a thread. He would make it right. He would come clean about telling Bobby but not yet. "Try not to move around. I'll be right back with Bobby."

Dean jogged down the hall to Bobby's room and rapped on the door.

A gruff voice answered, "It's three am. This better be good."

Dean heard the floorboards creak and footsteps coming toward the door. The door swung open and Bobby stood in ratty old robe, looking bleary eyed. "You better have a damned good reason for waking my ass up."

"We need to talk. I screwed up tonight, Bobby. You have no idea." Dean ran a hand over his mouth.

"Is that blood?" Bobby pointed at Dean's hand. He must have gotten some on his hands checking Sam's wounds.

Dean sighed, dropping his hand. "Yeah. It's Sam's."

Bobby's face became serious. "Does this have to do with what we talked about? Him seeing Lucifer?"

"Kind of. More having to do with me just being a screw up. He was talking about a dream he had, and I started thinking about everything, my imagination filled in some blanks, and before I knew it, I was puking in the bathroom."

"And let me guess. Sammy saw it all." Bobby shook his head. "Poor kid can't catch a break. He's gonna take that all personally you know."

"I know. He went off to the spare room and locked himself in, hurt himself bad. I can't stitch it alone. That's why I'm here."

"If it's as bad as you say, we're gonna need the good stuff. He might like pain, but I can't hurt the boy." Bobby stepped by Dean. "I'll grab the supplies, you go sit with Sam. I'll be right there."

"Oh, Bobby. He doesn't know you know. I'd like to keep it that way."

Bobby shook his head and sighed. "When are you boys gonna learn, lying to each other gets you nowhere, but alright. I won't say anything for now, but if were gonna help him this shits gotta stop."

"I know, Bobby. I know." Dean raked a hand threw his hair. What was he going to do?

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dean leaned in the doorway and watched his brother sleep. It had taken hours to fix the damage Sam had done. Even with Bobby's skilled fingers helping, it was going to leave a nasty scar. Dean hated the thought of another lasting reminder forever marked on his brother's skin. He had enough scars for a lifetime—for a hundred lifetimes. He didn't need more. Dean wished he could wipe it all away. If only he could take it all on himself. He would do that for his brother in a heartbeat. He would go through it all, so Sam could have a life without pain. He deserved it.

Each of Sam's breathes were even and deep. He lay with no shirt, his blanket pulled up to cover most of his chest, the white gauze peeking out from under the covers. If it weren't for seeing the bandaging, you'd think Sam was just sleeping, but that wasn't the case. He was heavily medicated.

The tranquilizers they'd given him had worked fast and well. It worked out that Bobby knew a reformed werewolf who happened to be a veterinarian, something Bobby had kept quiet until Dean asked where he got all the heavy meds from. Bobby kept the doctor's secret, and in return, he got all the supplies he needed—that's if he stuck to an all animal diet. Bobby planned on making a call to him in the morning for antibiotics—just in case. They'd tried to keep things as sterile as possible, but with Sam's luck, they weren't taking chances.

Dean knew Bobby was concerned. He hadn't seen the older hunter looked so tense than he did stitching up Sam during the night. It had been a mess. Dean could tell it had gotten to Bobby as his hands shook every time he pulled the thread tight. It wasn't like Bobby to shake. It was never easy stitching up one of your own, but it seemed even harder stitching Sam. Maybe it was because he did it to himself, maybe it was because he was Dean's responsibility. Every stitch was another moment in time Dean felt he failed his brother.

Dean sighed, taking in how peaceful Sam looked. He was thankful that his brother was having a moment free from the torment of his mind. Dean wondered what Sam had seen in the darkness of the bedroom. Had it been Lucifer? Was Lucifer behind the damage he had done, or was it worse, was it Dean? Had his actions caused it all to cascade and Sam to break? He felt he knew the answer and it made his body feel heavy with guilt.

Bobby cleared his throat quietly behind him. "So, you ready to talk about this?"

Dean let out a breath. "Yeah. I guess we should."

"Come on, I'll get the scotch." Bobby patted Dean on the arm. "He won't be waking up anytime soon, not with the amount meds he's on."

Dean nodded and pushed himself from the doorframe, leaving the door open just in case Sam woke. With one last glance at his brother, he followed Bobby down the hall.

Once they got to the living room, Bobby grabbed the bottle of scotch and two glasses, pouring a measure of amber liquid into each. He set the bottle down and walked to Dean, passing him a glass.

Dean swirled the liquor, watching it absently. His mind was still stuck on Sam. He felt like he should be upstairs watching over him. He couldn't let something like this happen to his brother again.

"I know you're thinking you want to run right back up there and hover like a mother hen, but like I told ya earlier, he's out for at least another six hours."

Dean looked up from his scotch. Bobby looked exhausted. It had been a long night—or long morning—depending on how you looked at it. The sun was just starting to rise, the glow of early morning sunlight filtering through the dingy, yellowed curtains.

"So, you gonna start talking or we just gonna stand here?" Bobby asked, taking a drink.

Dean took a sip of his scotch. "Yeah, I guess we should. Where should I start?"

"Oh, I don't know." Bobby motioned in the air before his voice went sharp. "Maybe what the hell that was all about? You said he was hurting himself, Dean! Not tearing his own flesh out for Christ's sake!"

Bobby's words hit Dean hard. He didn't really know what to say. He couldn't blame Bobby for being upset. "Yeah, I know. It wasn't ever that bad before. I screwed up."

"Well, what are we gonna do? Babysit him?" Bobby ran a hand through his thinning hair. "He ain't gonna go for that. For all we know, it might make things worse."

Dean nodded. "I know. We used to have a deal—even before Lucifer. He would come to me first, give me a chance to stop him. Now, I don't know."

"Hold on, you said he started this to deal _with_ Lucifer. You mean this was going on _before_? And you didn't tell me."

Dean hadn't mentioned that part because in a way it made his brother seem even more broken, but also because Dean felt guilty. It was his doing that Sam got the idea to cut in the first place. He'd suggested that pain could ground you. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. He might as well tell Bobby everything. He needed to know.

"It started before Lucifer appeared," he confessed. "I caught him doing it after the Plucky's thing. He'd cut his leg up bad. We talked about it though. I helped him through the urges. It seemed to be working—then Lucifer and the crazy train arrived." Dean kicked back the rest of the drink.

Bobby grabbed the bottle of scotch and walked over to Dean, pouring another measure in his glass. "Looks like you could some more."

Dean glanced at his glass and nodded, taking a drink. "What are we gonna do?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess we need to get him talking. That's the only way to help him heal. We need to figure out why he's seeing the damn devil, too. That's just another basket of crazy right there."

"You think it's supernatural? I mean, he is seeing Lucifer after all," Dean asked.

Bobby drew a breath and took another drink. "It might be the devil he's seeing, but I don't think it's that simple. I think this is all coming from Sam's head. Call me crazy, but I wonder if … never mind."

"You wonder what?"

"I wonder if maybe Lucifer is part of Sam. I mean, I'm no head shrinker but maybe Lucifer represents something to the kid," Bobby said. "What happened to Sam leaves behind scars, scars unlike anything else. They can change a person. Sam was just a kid, Dean. He spent his whole life with that shit living in his head. I think this is deeper. I think he's seeing Lucifer for a reason."

"The only reason he's seeing Lucifer is because he's got a head full of hell."

Bobby nodded his head. "Like I said, just an old man's thoughts."

"Do you think you can get your wolfboy to prescribe some antidepressants or something?" Dean asked. "I mean, it's clear he's depressed—might be a start."

"You really think Sam will take them?" Bobby raised a brow.

"We can only try," Dean drank the last of his scotch and walked to window, watching the sun rise over the stacks of junkers.

xXx

The first thing Sam felt when he woke was the tight pulling pain on his side. He ached and just trying to adjust his arm sent pain through his side. He bit his lip as he tried to push himself up. The afternoon sun was beating in the window. Sam felt like he had slept for days but his head was still foggy. He ran a hand over his face.

Footsteps were coming up the stairs and he pulled the blanket up, noting the neatly taped gauze covering his side. He was curious what it looked like underneath. He hadn't seen how much damage he'd done, but it must have been bad to need Bobby's help. He wondered what Dean had told him. He couldn't imagine Bobby finding out the truth. He already felt exposed enough. Maybe coming to Bobby's had been a bad idea.

A rap at the half-opened door grabbed Sam's attention. It was Dean.

"Hey, welcome back to the land of the living. Bobby thought you'd be out 'til noon. It's two. Guess you needed sleep."

Sam couldn't believe he'd slept that long. He didn't even remember a nightmare, just nothingness. Whatever Bobby had given had worked great—too bad he couldn't take it every night.

"Yeah, I feel pretty good." Sam looked at the bowl in Dean's hand. "What's that?"

"Oatmeal," Dean said. "Made it myself."

"I'll pass then."

"Don't be such a bitch. Bobby made it. Like I'd cook," Dean's joked, but Sam could see something else behind the playful banter. Dean looked worn-out, his eyes tired and red. "Come on, just eat it." He walked over and passed the bowl to Sam.

Sam stirred the bland looking porridge before daring a bite. It tasted about how it looked, but Sam felt like he should eat it. He owed it to Dean after what he'd put him through the night before.

"Well?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed the overcooked oats. "Good."

"Good, because I lied. I made it." Dean sat on the bed. He motioned to the gauze with his chin. "How's the side feeling?"

Sam stopped eating and began to stir what was left, anything to avoid discussing what happened between them.

"Well?" Dean asked impatiently.

Sam looked down. "It's fine."

"I thought we were past this, Sam. I had my fingers holding you together last night. I know it's not fine."

Sam knew he was right. He needed to start being more honest. He owed it to Dean.

"It hurts a little," he said as he pushed the food around the bowl.

Dean nodded and stood, pulling some pills from his pocket. "Got the good stuff." He passed them to Sam. "Hang on. Let me get the water from the nightstand for you. Don't need you pulling those stitches."

Sam popped the pills in mouth and took the proffered water, taking a long drink. The cool water feeling good on his dry throat. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

"We need to talk about last night," Dean said, making Sam glance at his brother. He looked serious and Sam's stomach dropped. He wasn't ready for this. He wished he could just disappear. He tried pushing himself up in the bed further, maybe to escape, but a tearing pain stopped him, and he yelped.

Dean's firm hand pressed on his chest and held him in place. "Easy. Sorry, but you're not going anywhere. We got you're side back together but just barely. If you tear those again, we won't be able to fix it. You'll need to go to the hospital and we'll have a lot to explain."

Sam wanted to protest, but Dean was probably right so he nodded.

"Now, get ready to listen because we need to talk," Dean said.

Sam sighed. "Dean, it's fine. Please, we don't need to do this."

"Tough, we need to do this because I don't think you get it."

Sam looked up at Dean. "I know what happened. I made you sick."

"Dammit, Sam. You don't make me sick. It's thinking about what those bastards did to you that makes me sick. Never you. I hate what happened to you. I can't stand thinking of … I just … It's not you." Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "Sam, you need to open up to me. I can handle it. Put it on me. Let me carry it for it. We need to talk about it."

Sam couldn't. Putting words to the things that had happened, talking about how it made him feel. He felt too ashamed to say it all aloud.

"I can't, Dean. Please, just drop it," Sam begged.

The conversation began to stir the shadows in Sam's mind. He suddenly felt dirty like there were hands on him. His heart began to beat faster. The ghosts of his mind were back, and he was drowning in their darkness.

"I can handle it, Sam. Lay it on me, the clown, Hell, Lucifer, everything. I won't leave your side. Let me help you."

"Dean, please," Sam begged, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can't do this right now."

"What happened to you?" Dean pushed.

He needed the conversation to stop. Why was Dean doing this to him? Tears began to prick at his eyes and a sob broke from him. He felt like a child again.

A warm hand pressed against his chest and he tried to focus on it, but he was slipping fast.

"Sam, stay with me. It's okay. I'm sorry. We don't need to talk. Just calm down."

Sam's breathes were coming in hitched gasps. It was too late. He was back there, following the orders of the clown, helpless and alone. He could smell him, taste him. Sam felt his stomach lurch and he gagged, gasping for air.

"Sam, stop! Breathe!" Dean's voice sounded distant.

Suddenly a familiar voice cut through the chaos that was consuming him. "Looks like I gotta chime in here," it said casually.

Sam's eyes darted toward the sound to see Lucifer, standing there looking sympathetic across the room.

"If you don't get a grip, and I mean like in the next few secs, you're going to end up in the fetal position and Bobby's gonna be stabbing you in the ass with a tranquilizer." Lucifer cocked his head to the side. "You need to calm down, kiddo. You're no fun to me if you're a drooling mess."

Sam looked at the devil confused, not sure what to make of him. He was making sense though. The memories were pulling him under and he had to find a way to stop before he fell apart. He didn't doubt they'd sedate him. What could he do though? He couldn't cut. Not now. Not ever. He'd put Dean through too much.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I need to spell it out for you. Focus on the pain, Sammy. You know, your handiwork from last night? Feel it. Focus on it. You'll feel better if you do. _Trust_ _me_."

Sam didn't want to admit it, but he was making sense—pain to stop the pain. It was just like how it started. Except now it was Lucifer handing him the idea. Sam knew it wouldn't have the same release, have the same feeling of control, but he was willing to try.

The room was beginning to spin. He was hyperventilating.

"Bobby!" Sam heard Dean yell.

He needed to make focus on the pain. He closed his eyes and focused on the throb of his side, trying to let it center him. Each pull and tug of the stitches as he took a breath, he welcomed the pain. He held on to it tightly and let it soothe him. His heart slowed, and he began to feel more in control. He opened his eyes to see Dean looking at him anxiously.

"That's it, breath," Dean soothed, rubbing circles on Sam's chest. "You're alright."

Lucifer walked over to the foot of the bed, eyebrows raised. "Well, are you?"

"I'm good." Sam looked past Dean at Lucifer. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Sam," Dean said. "I just gave you a panic attack."

Sam kept focusing on the pain as he looked at Lucifer. It had worked.

"See, what did I say?" Lucifer said. "I'll let you have your little alone time now. Watching Dean being all big brother and cuddles just makes me want to puke."

And then he as quickly as he came, he was gone, leaving Sam alone with Dean.

Heavy footsteps running down the hall drew Sam's attention. He looked toward the door. Bobby. He was breathing heavy and looking over same with a scrutinizing gaze.

"It's okay, Bobby," Dean said. "Sam almost fell out of bed. No worries. I got him back."

Sam looked at Dean. He could tell when his brother was lying, question was, who was he lying to? Bobby or him? There was something off about how Bobby looked at Sam. It was like he could see his secrets and it made him squirm in the bed.

"Well, if you boys are set. I'm gonna head back down and finish making lunch," Bobby said. The look he shared with Dean before leaving the room didn't go unnoticed.

Dean looked remorseful. "I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have pushed."

Sam felt guilty, too. He knew he shouldn't have used pain to cope but it was so much easier to embrace it than face the pain of his past. Secretly, he didn't want to heal. He wanted the pain to stay so he could hold onto it and keep himself from being dragged away.

"It okay," Sam said, looking at Dean. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot, anything."

"Were you telling the truth earlier, did you mean what you said, that I don't make you sick?" Sam asked.

Dean drew a slow breath and looked Sam in the eyes. "Sam, I swear. It was not you."

Sam nodded, wanting to believe.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, sure."

Dean's eyes moved to look at the gauze on Sam's side and Sam tugged the blanket up, feeling exposed. Of course, Dean wanted to know about what happened in the bedroom. He probably blamed himself.

"Why … Was it me?" He gestured to Sam's side.

Sam sighed. He couldn't look at Dean's face. He didn't want to see his brother's guilt.

"I got overwhelmed … Everything crashed down … it got too much … And there was Lucifer," Sam spoke in broken fragments, just wanting the words out.

"Did Lucifer tell you to do it?" Dean asked calmly.

Sam glanced at him in time to see him swallow hard, like he was struggling to contain his emotions.

Sam turned his head, looking out the window. "He didn't, not this time."

"Does he tell you to often?" Dean sounded like he was choking on his words.

Sam shrugged. It wasn't quite like that. Sam wanted it, too. Lucifer might be the devil, he had tortured Sam, but the things he said made sense sometimes—like using pain to center himself. Dean had said something similar once. He should understand better than anyone. There was something about the way Lucifer spoke that soothed Sam. It was like he understood Sam in ways he didn't even understand himself.

Sam felt the bed shift and he looked to Dean. His face was serious and his mouth a hard line. He was looking at Sam with such gravity it unsettled him.

"You know he's not real, Sammy."

Sam thought for a moment. "How do you know?"

"I just do," Dean said. "Trust in me, Sam. Believe what I tell you, not him. You understand me?"

The sound of a faint lullaby being hummed caught Sam's attention and he looked towards the sound. Perched on the dresser was Lucifer, watching the exchange with his brother. "What's it gonna be, Sam? Him or me?" He hopped down. "Remember, when your brother sent you spiraling out of control earlier, who helped pull you back?"

Sam looked at his brother, then back at Lucifer.

"Sammy, do you see him right now?" Dean asked, looking around the room. "Dammit, Sam. What is he saying?"

"Nothing, just … He helped me, Dean."

Dean's face contorted in confusion. "What do you mean, he helped you?"

"Earlier, he told me to focus on the pain. He said it would it help, like the … cutting," he confessed, "and it did. It pulled me back from the brink."

Dean rubbed his forehead, stopping to pinch his brow. "Sam … I don't know what to say. This is all really fucked up."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Lucifer began to pace the room, watching them quietly, looking almost protective of Sam.

Dean sighed. "It's okay, Sam. We'll figure this out. Just please, don't listen to him. Pain isn't the answer. Come to me. Let me help you."

"Okay, I'll try," Sam said. "He doesn't seem to like you much by the way."

"Perfect, he's not exactly on my Christmas list either," Dean got up and walked toward the door, pausing before stepping out. "I'm gonna go grab lunch for you. You okay for a minute alone?"

Sam waved him off. "I'm fine, Dean. I'll be alright."

"Good and no talking to the devil while I'm gone," Dean shook his head as he left the room. "Only a Winchester would ever need to say that and actually mean it."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"How's Sam doing?" Bobby asked, looking over his shoulder as he washed the dishes.

Dean shook his head. After the talk he'd just had with Sam, he didn't think any of the regular terms one would use could cover the level of fucked up things were. He was not okay—far from it.

"He's been talking to Lucifer, like chit chatting apparently." Dean rubbed his brow, feeling the ache of stress behind his eyes. "I'm worried, Bobby. This is some screwed up shit."

Bobby shut off the water and turned to him, drying his hands on a towel. "Did he say what they talk about?"

"Yeah, kinda. I pushed Sam to talk. I thought it would help. It sent him into a panic attack." Dean looked to Bobby for disapproval but only saw only concern. "I thought I was talking him down. I thought it was me he was listening to—turns out it was Lucifer. The bastard was telling him to focus on the pain to ground himself."

Bobby looked down at his hands. "You know, Dean, like I said before, I think Lucifer isn't a memory. I think he is a piece of Sam—the part that needs control, the part that want to punish himself. I think he feels ashamed of what happened."

"I've told him though. We've been through it. He knows there is nothing to be ashamed of."

Bobby shrugged. "You might have said it, but does he really believe it? It's like he's building a wall around himself, and Lucifer is out front, standing guard."

"How do we get through to him?"

"I don't know, but I got to head into town and meet with Frank. He's got the meds for Sam ready. Why don't you bring him up lunch and we can talk later? We can go through all my contacts and see if there is anyone in there that can help."

Dean scrubbed his eyes. They burned from little sleep. "This all feels like some fucked up dream. I can't believe …"

"I know," Bobby said, walking passed Dean, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. "I won't be long."

Dean grabbed the plate with the grilled cheese Bobby made and walked back upstairs.

He walked quietly down the hallway, stopping to peek into the room. He told himself he wasn't spying on Sam, but he was and he knew it. What he saw made him feel a combination of wounded and angry. Sam was talking, presumably to Lucifer. He couldn't make out the words, as he was murmuring them under his breath, but he was talking to someone.

Pushing his feelings aside, he cleared his throat, letting Sam know he was back. Sam's head snapped around to look at Dean, his face wrecked with guilt.

Dean sighed, walking over to the bed and sitting down. "I brought you a sandwich, you barely touched your breakfast. Bobby actually made it this time—wasn't me."

Sam reached out, taking the plate and setting it on his lap. He took half the sandwich, turning it in his hand, looking over it carefully. He gave it a sniff and then took a small bite.

Dean chuckled. "I told you. Bobby made it. With the amount of butter on there, it has to taste good."

"Thanks," Sam said, swallowing. "So, I guess you heard me."

Dean drew a breath, nodding. "Yeah, I'm guessing you weren't talking to yourself while I was gone?"

Sam looked down at the sandwich in his hands and shook his head. "He came back."

Dean nodded, trying to understand. "Did he … I mean, did he want you to hurt yourself?"

Sam's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's. "It's not like that."

"Then what's it like?"

"He makes sense, Dean. He doesn't want to hurt me. He helps me control myself."

Dean scoffed. "You call this him helping you control yourself? Have you even looked at your side, really looked, Sam? It was like stitching hamburger."

Sam looked down at his hands.

"You're hurting yourself, Sam, and I can't seem to do a damn thing right to stop you," Dean said, trying to duck into his line of vision, but Sam looked away. "Jesus, do you even care what this is doing to me? Doing to Bobby? He's worried sick about you. You should have seen his face when I told what happened to as a—"

The words had left Dean's mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He wished he could pull them back from the air they hung in. The look on his brothers face broke him. It was a look of a man who'd just had a knife stabbed in his back. Sam knew the truth—Bobby knew. Dean tried to find something to say as he watched his brother's face contort in an agonizing mix of pain and rage. He began to vibrate, his hands shaking. His breaths began to come in huffs. His fists balled at his sides.

Dean waited for Sam to something, anything, just let him have it. He deserved it for betraying Sam's trust, but Sam just stared at him, burning gaze cutting into Dean painfully.

"Sammy …"

"Don't," Sam warned through gritted teeth, a tear slipped from his eye, rolling down his cheek and Dean wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his brother and tell him that he was sorry, that it was okay. Anything to take the look of pain from Sam's face.

"I'm sorry, I—" Dean couldn't finish as a fist was suddenly connecting with his jaw, knocking him back. Dean clambered to his feet, putting up his hands. "Stop, Sam," Dean said, not fighting, afraid of hurting him more. "I know you're mad. Yell, scream, but don't hurt yourself more."

"How could you!" Sam snapped. "I trusted you!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you. I needed help." Dean said, heart clenching as he looked in to his Sam's blood shot eyes.

Sam wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling. "So, that's why we really came here? Another lie."

Dean closed his eyes, unable to look at his brother's betrayed expression any longer. "Yes," he confessed.

"How long has he known? When did you tell him, Dean!"

Dean opened his eyes to face Sam. "The night we got here."

The words seemed to knock Sam back. He stumbled and turned to walk back toward the bed, but he folded toward his bad side, hand pressing against the wound.

"Let me help you," Dean offered, reaching out to his brother.

Sam shook his head, a whimper of pain coming from him that cut Dean more deeply than any knife could.

"Sam, please." Dean walked to his side, afraid to touch.

Sam just hung his though, eyes closed and breathing ragged breaths, tears rolling down his cheeks. Slowly, Sam made the few steps to the bed and sat down on the edge, never once acknowledging Dean. His mouth was tight line and his brows were pinched together. Dean imagined it was all he could do to not scream. Sam never liked showing weakness.

Unable to help, he just stood watching his brother suffer, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort him but he knew that the touch wasn't welcomed.

Sam's breaths slowed, and he wiped his face with his shirt. Dean was about to say something when he caught Sam glancing toward the corner of the room and give a subtle nod. The little acknowledgment wasn't meant for him and he knew it. He knew that something had just passed between Sam and Lucifer. He wondered what Lucifer had said. Was it another suggestion to hurt himself? Dean wished he could throttle the prick, but then he remembered what Bobby had said. Lucifer might be a part of Sam's own mind. He needed to start thinking of Lucifer differently. If he wanted to help Sam, he needed to also the understand the devil in his mind.

"I want to leave," Sam said finally.

So, that was it—that was what Lucifer had suggested. Over his dead body. He tried to understand though. He needed to for him. Sam had every right not to feel comfortable around Bobby now. It made sense he'd want to get away. Dean had screwed up telling Bobby, and he owed it to him to make it right. If he needed to get away, Dean would take him. There were plenty of old cabins hunters used that they could hunker down in for a few weeks.

"Okay, we can leave," Dean said. "We can go as soon as you want."

Sam shook his head. "I meant alone."

Sam's words hit Dean hard. "That's not gonna happen, Sam."

"You can't make me stay. I'll be fine. If I'm on my own, I can just forget everything. You just want to make me talk about everything—talking makes things worse."

Dean's brows knit together. "Is that what he's telling you?"

"So, what if it is?" Sam shrugged.

"You seriously don't think there is anything wrong with you taking advice from the devil? He doesn't want the best for you. He wants you to hurt."

Sam looked at Dean, face tight. "It's not like that—and besides—he's the only person I left I can trust. At least he tells the truth."

Sam's words hit Dean like a ton of bricks, knocking the air from his lungs. Sam didn't trust him, not just that, Sam trusted some cocked up version of the devil even more.

"Sammy …" he breathed.

"Just go, Dean," Sam said, turning to lay back in the bed.

Dean's eyes caught a growing speck of blood on Sam's side. "Shit. You're bleeding."

Sam looked down. He touched his shirt curiously, looking at the blood on his fingers as he pulled them away. "Oh."

"Sam, I need to lift your shirt and take a look. We might have no option but the hospital now," Dean said, sighing.

Sam sucked in a breath and moved to stand, but Dean pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't need any help. I can take care of it," Sam's voice sounded emotionless, a stark contrast to earlier.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Sammy, please. I'm sorry. Hate me if you want, but I did what I thought was right. I was only trying to find a way through this shit storm. Let me take a look."

Sam's eyes flitted between Dean and the dresser and then he nodded, shifting so his side was turned toward Dean.

Carefully, Dean lifted the fabric of Sam's shirt. Trying not to hurt him, he peeled back the tape and took a look at what lay beneath. The edges of the wound were angry, swollen, and red. The stitches were pulled tight from the swelling. Dean was glad Bobby had thought to get antibiotics as this was beginning to look iffy. It was easy to see where the blood was coming from. One of the stitches had torn through. There wasn't much they could do about it though. There was no easy way to restitch it. Sam was just going to need to be very careful over the next week or so while it healed.

"Looks okay," Dean said. "I'll get it cleaned up and get a fresh bandage on it."

When he looked to Sam for a response, he saw that he was looking dully at the wall, his eyes vacant. He could only imagine what his brother was thinking. Was he lost in memories? Was Lucifer drawing him further away, lulling him with lies? Sam was already so far away. He should have talked to Sam before telling Bobby. It was a mistake he couldn't take back.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, pushing himself up to stand. He waved a hand in front of Sam's face.

Sam looked up, eyes so hollow that they sent a shiver through Dean. "It wasn't your secret to tell."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You'll never understand," Sam said.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to Mandancie for pre-reading. Mistakes are mine. I'm overtired and posting with just a glance though.**

**Chapter** **Eleven**

The old screen door clacked behind Bobby as he made his way into the house, his hands full of bags. He'd stopped at the grocery store in town to pick up some food that Sam might be more interested in eating. He never was a big meat and potatoes eater like Dean and himself. He hoped the head of lettuce and few tomatoes he bought would do—a chef he wasn't, but he'd give it his best.

He set the bags down on the table, looking around expecting to see Dean or maybe even Sam, but it was quiet. Shrugging it off, he put away the groceries. His meeting with Frank had gone well. Bobby didn't tell him what was going on, just that he needed some supplies and the meds he'd requested. The vet seemed curious about the antidepressants, but didn't ask. He filled in Bobby on the everything he should know about taking them and things to watch out for. Turned out, Frank often prescribed antidepressants to dogs, so it didn't look too suspicious. Bobby chuckled to himself as he picked up the prescription bottle, imagining a depressed dog, popping pills and drinking whiskey.

This whole situation had caught Bobby off guard, and brought up things from his own past he had put to rest. These boys were like his sons and it tore him apart thinking about what happened to Sam. He could only imagine if John was alive, if he had known. Whatever Dean had done to the man, Bobby imagined his father would have done worse. No one touched his boys and got away with it. As the next best thing to a father, Bobby felt it was his job to fill John's shoes now. He needed to take care of them now. It wasn't going to be easy. He had some experience in trauma, but this was complicated. What he did know though, as much as Dean was trying to help, the kid was just making it worse. Sam needed to heal. He needed reassurance. They had to find a way to reach him behind the wall he'd built.

Sighing, Bobby walked into the den, pulling out his flask and taking a drink, the burn of the cheap swill burning its way down his throat.

Hearing footsteps upstairs, he glanced at the ceiling and sighed. Sam must be awake. Dean needed to tell Sam he knew. Bobby wasn't gonna lie to the boy and pretend he didn't know. The lying had to stop. It was the damn Winchester way though, he thought. They do anything to protect each other but don't realize the damage they are doing until it's done.

The footsteps were moving down the hall and then he heard someone coming down the stairs. He could only assume Dean. A moment later, the older brother appeared in the doorway. He looked worn and tired. His eyes a little red like he'd been crying. His five o'clock shadow was starting to turn into a beard.

Bobby offered his flask to Dean. "Looks like you could use it."

Dean walked over and took it, taking a drink and passing it back.

"Wanna talk about it?" Bobby asked, looking Dean over. His hunting skills not missing the bit of blood wiped on Dean's jeans. He braced himself for whatever answer may come.

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "He knows I told you. It slipped. He doesn't trust me anymore." Dean looked crushed. "And to make it worse, he said the only person he trusts now is Lucifer."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "Well ain't that just peachy."

Dean walked over to the ragged, old chair and plonked down, putting his head in hands. "I can't believe I let it slip."

"You think the problem is letting it slip?" Bobby asked.

Dean glanced up, his eyes looking tired. "He pulled one of his stitches because I couldn't keep my mouth shut."

"Oh, keeping your mouth shut is definitely part of the problem, but knowing when to open it is damn well part of it, too."

"Huh?"

"The way he sees it, you told his secret, and instead of coming clean and being honest, you lied. The problem here isn't about you slipping up, it's about not respecting your brother enough to tell the truth, and now that you haven't, look at the mess we're in."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the gears work in Dean's mind.

Dean slumped back in the chair. "I give up, Bobby. I don't know how to do this. I just want to help. I feel like I'm losing him. He said he wanted to leave—without me."

Bobby wished he knew what to say to make him feel better, but the truth was words weren't going to fix this. It was clear the harder they pushed Sam the further away he got, and now he wanted away, and it scared Bobby he might just bolt. They couldn't watch him every second.

"I know you may not like this, but I think it might be for the best if I take care of Sam for the time being. I haven't … Well, we don't have the trust issues you two have right now. He needs to heal."

Dean hung his head. "You're right. He needs help and it can't be me right now. I'm just a fuck up."

"Don't beat yourself up about this, Dean. Things like this don't come with instruction manuals."

"He doesn't like to be jumped, knock first when you get up there," Dean said.

Bobby nodded. "Alright, why don't you take a nap and get some rest. I'll go up and see Sam."

Dean looked up at Bobby. "Bring the meds. His side isn't looking too hot either. I don't want an infection to set in."

"It's okay. I'll take care of him."

Bobby walked back to the kitchen to get the meds and a bottle of water. He doubted Sam was going to take the antidepressants, but he'd offer. He wasn't going to force anything on him. He wasn't going to lie either. Sam was in charge in Bobby's mind. He knew Sam had to set the pace of his recovery. Bobby had been down this road once before, with someone he loved very much, his wife. She had been attacked and Bobby never forgave himself for not being there to stop it—the same guilt he knew Dean carried. He had made some of the same mistakes Dean had made, pushing too hard and letting his own hurt get in the way. Dean needed time to process.

He grabbed the meds and headed upstairs to see Sam. He could hear whispering when he got closer. He let out a sigh. He might know a little from helping his wife Karen, but then she never saw the devil and had chats with him. This he wasn't too sure about how to handle. He knew that Lucifer was some part of Sam. He wondered if he could gain Lucifer's trust if he could slip behind Sam's wall. He shook his head. This wasn't gonna be easy and it wasn't gonna be fast, but just maybe if he could Sam to trust him, lean on him, he wouldn't need Lucifer anymore to guard against the pain.

The door was partly open, and he gently knocked, remembering Dean's warning.

"Come in," Sam's quiet voice said.

He pushed the door open and walked inside, Sam stiffening when he saw him.

Bobby gave a weak smile. "You mind if we talk for bit?"

Sam shrugged. "Depends on what about."

Bobby gestured to the bed. "Can I sit?"

Sam nodded and looked out the window. "You here to see the freak for yourself?"

Bobby sighed, shaking his head. "You're not a freak."

"I know he told you. I doubt he stopped at … I am sure he told you about Lucifer." Sam turned to look Bobby.

Bobby nodded. "He did, and it doesn't change a damn thing about you. You're still the same Sam you always were. Ain't nothing that could change how I think of you. You're like a son to me, both you boys are."

Sam turned his gaze back to the window. Bobby didn't want to push him, so he just waited. Sam had been through enough. It didn't really surprise him how Sam was coping. Pandora's Box was opened, and all the hurt was unleashed. The kid was grabbing at anything he could to try to get it back inside, but there just wasn't a way. It was out, and they needed to deal with it—the shame, his lack of self-worth, the loss of his innocence.

"Lucifer thinks I should leave," Sam said.

"Do you want to?"

Sam shrugged. "Everything just feels like too much. I just want to find a way out. I can't even get away when I'm sleeping."

Bobby knew he meant nightmares. Dean hadn't filled him in much on that, but he had guessed it.

"The funny thing is, I was doing okay. I was going along in life. I knew it all happened, but I kept it locked up. I didn't go there. I was detached from it in a way—numb. It never felt it was me it happened, not until I said it out loud. When I told Dean, something broke. Suddenly it was me. I was feeling it for the first time."

"It was your minds way of helping you. It was protecting you. It happens in PTSD."

"I don't have PTSD."

Bobby drew a breath. That was a conversation for another day. "Look, I know you don't want to be here and I know Dean has made some mistakes, but we both just want to help. I won't push you, and I'll make sure Dean doesn't either. Just rest. That's it. No need to go anywhere."

He noticed Sam's eyes were fixed on something in the corner of the room. Causally, Bobby glanced over, just to see for himself no one was there. He wondered what Lucifer was saying. He didn't need to wait long though to find out as Sam look back to Bobby.

"If I stay, do I have to talk?" Sam said.

"Nope, you can just rest."

Sam looked distant for a moment, then glanced to Bobby again. "Okay."

Bobby let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Well, that's good to hear. Now, I don't know if Dean mentioned it, but I picked up some meds. One an antibiotic and the other"— He scratched at the back of his necked— "well, it an antidepressant. Nothing strong and you don't have to take it. Hell, we aren't even doctors. It just seemed like it might help things. It's up to you."

Bobby watched Sam's face for a response, not sure how he'd take the suggestion. Sam's brows pinched together, and he narrowed his eyes a bit. Bobby braced himself for the shit storm about to happen. He knew it was a bad idea, but then before he could start to apologize, Sam's face softened.

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

Bobby blinked, confused. "Okay? You sure."

Sam looked down at his hands and just nodded.

"Hey, I've taken them before myself. Nothing to be ashamed about," Bobby said, hoping his words reassured Sam. After his wife passed, he had fallen into a deep depression and needed help to get back to himself. "You'll probably only need them for a little while. Doesn't make you weak."

"I know."

"Okay," Bobby said, standing to reach in his pocket and pull the two bottles of pills. "First, let me take a look at that gash of yours. I don't want to give you something you don't need if I can help it."

Sam nodded and rolled to his good side, lifting his shirt to uncover the bandage on his ribs. "Dean just checked it."

"Yeah, well, I just want to see for myself, nothing against your brother."

Carefully, he peeled the tape and lifted the gauze. Immediately he saw the faint yellow and pink staining on the gauze, the beginnings of infection. The stitches were tight from swelling. He'd been overdoing it. He recovered the wound and pulled the bottles of pills from his pocket. He shook one of each of the pills into his hand and passed them to Sam, handing him the bottle of water he brought.

"Looks like you're gonna need the antibiotics. We caught it early though. We're gonna need to keep an eye on it though and clean it again it."

"It hurts," Sam said, swallowing the pills.

A chuckle broke from Bobby. "No shit, you don't say? Damn, Sammy. What are we gonna do with you?"

"You're not mad?"

Bobby shook his head. "You're strong, Sam. You've been through something that breaks people. You survived though. This"—He motioned to Sam's side— "this isn't you being weak. It's all you have right now to control the pain, I know you feel alone. I know you don't think you'll ever be able to talk about it, but you will. Trust me, Sam. I know something about his kinda stuff."

Sam's gaze snapped to Bobby. "What do you mean?"

"My wife was attacked, the first year we were married. She waited six months to tell me."

"Was she …"

"Yeah, she was raped, Sam, and one day she fell apart and told me. I didn't know how to be there for her. I did my best and made mistakes, just like Dean. It wasn't easy, but she survived—not just survived, thrived. She was amazing, and you are no different. You'll make it through this, Sam. You're strong."

"I don't feel it."

"You have Winchester blood running through your veins, you're the strongest breed out there. You won't just come from this, you'll come back stronger."

Sam seemed to sink into the bed and Bobby watched as he started to pick at his nails. He looked like he was thinking. Bobby kept an eye on his hands, making sure he didn't start hurting himself. He hoped the conversation hadn't been too much for him at once.

"Am I going crazy?" Sam said, pulling his arms around himself, still looking out the window.

Damn the kid was breaking his heart. "No, Sam. I promise things are gonna get better."

"Lucifer is singing."

Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Try to rest, Sam. Get some sleep. Things will be get better."

Bobby stayed, watching over Sam as he drifted off to sleep. Things had gone better than he'd expected. He knew it would be two steps forward and one step back, but things were finally moving forward. Pandora's Box may have been opened, but hope lay in the bottom of the box, and Bobby sure as hell wasn't gonna let that go.


End file.
